


Rewriting the Rules

by deansfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergence, Character Study, Gen, POV Outsider, season 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deansfangirl/pseuds/deansfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gen, no pairings. Can "the epic love story of Sam and Dean" make room for one more? Tony DiNozzo from NCIS stars as the new third wheel. Can he handle a hunter's life? Will the Winchesters tell him everything? A character study of our favorite brothers, set late in season seven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original notes from April 2012:
> 
> The idea came a few weeks ago when it was announced that Sera was stepping down and Jeremy Carver was replacing her. I read some article about it on some tv-commentary website that had a list of suggestions for the direction of the show next season. I typed up a brilliant reply comment, and then for some reason the form wouldn't submit. And I was very frustrated at not sharing my brilliant revelation. Basically, my two cents is that we've seen the love story of Sam and Dean in its entirety. And it's been SO awesome. Now they've got each other's backs no matter what... but there's not really anywhere left to go with that in and of itself. Sure, there'll always be new evil to fight, but that's just the surface of what makes this the greatest show of all time. It's the relationship twists and turns and trials and triumphs of the Winchester sons that truly drives the boat, imho. So my idea for season 8 is that it's time to add a whole new chapter to their platonic bromance love story by adding a third person into the dynamic. Can they adopt someone else 24/7 into their lives and come to trust and care about them equal to each other? I know they've had Bobby, but he fit into a fatherly/mentor category for the boys and didn't require them to adapt. Cas would be my first suggestion to the writers, because him becoming human and a hunter would easily fill a whole season and Dean has already started thinking of him like a brother.
> 
> But then I was watching another favorite show and randomly wondered: what would Gibbs' rules look like compared to John Winchester's? And so my sort-of-crossover fic was born. It does put the two sets of characters together, but it's unimportant whether you've seen NCIS before. Since Sam and Dean certainly haven't seen it, they're introduced to the characters in a progressive manner. I don't have a title yet, but am starting with "Rewriting the Rules," even though the "rules" are a very small part of the story. Mostly it's about Sam and Dean adding Tony DiNozzo to their life (after his implodes). I have 90% of it written already on every legal pad I could find in the house. Never has writing come so quickly or consumed me like this, but maybe that's a sign that everything's gonna come up roses. I also never knew that pens could run dry after a few thousand words.
> 
> Updated notes from October 2013:
> 
> So this has been the longest in-progress fic of all time, but it IS still being worked on, and it WILL be finished someday. I thought chapter 8 would be the end, but then I wrote a 9 which isn't the last either. If you are a brave enough soul to read a WIP, then God bless you! If you see a typo and point it out to me, you are a true saint. There is not a beta reader for this (who would put up with my timetable?!), so any and all constructive criticism will be absolutely adored. :-)

_**Prologue** _

Dean was slowly twisting the radio dial, searching for any kind of rock station in the middle of nowhere when his phone started ringing.  "Hello?"

"Hi, Agent Bonham?  This is Officer Tucker at the Portland PD.  You helped my daughter Tracy with her... um, ballet recital at the station a couple weeks ago?"

"Yeah, I remember.  Has something else like that happened again?"  He tapped Sam's arm to get his attention too.

"Oh!  No, thank God.  But I just got a call from a detective in Baltimore who was looking for you and your partner.  The strange part was that she had your names wrong and thought you two were brothers, but she described you to a T.  I wasn't sure I should give her your number, so I told her I'd pass the message along."

"Thanks for that," Dean said, miming writing until Sam handed him a pen and the back of some magazine.  "Sounds kind of crazy, but go ahead."

"Okay, her name is Diana Ballard and her number is 410-555-9185.  She just said that she has 'a bad omen' to tell you about."

"Huh.  You sound like you believe her."

"She really did seem alright.  Sane, at least.  I figured it wouldn't hurt to give you a call."

"We appreciate it, officer.  Adios."

"Anytime."

Shutting the phone, Dean looked at Sam to see if he'd recognized the name after it was written.  "So do you know a Diana in Baltimore?"

"Baltimore?"  His brother made that constipated brain-wracking face.

"Apparently there's a 'bad omen' for us."

"Omen?" Sam's eyes clicked on like a light bulb.  "Was she the detective that met the death omen from some lady her partner killed?  Remember the guy who almost shot you, then she let us go?"

"Oh, yeah.  That's it, Detective . . . Ballard."

"Wow, that must have been about five or six years ago," Sam realized.  "How'd she even think to track us down?  I thought we were officially 'dead' after Henriksen."

"Beats me.  Let's call her and get the scoop."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_**Chapter One** _

*Ouch!*

Tony awoke to consciousness suddenly when his cheek slapped his brain into gear.  There was a blurry face too close to his nose, but blinking it into focus didn't bring him any enlightenment.

"Who...?"  His throat felt like sandpaper, so he had to quit trying to talk.

"I'm Sam.  Just hold on.  We'll get you out of here."  The guy turned behind him to yell, "Dean!"

Tony's brain was extremely distracted by the multiple aches and pains it was trying to catalog, but he stubbornly tried to multitask.  Looking around, it was dark with moving lights-- flashlights, just a couple.  The air was humid, and it smelled....

"Are we," he tried to squeeze a question out of his abused throat, "in a *sewer*?"

"Yeah.  Just hold on.  I'll answer your questions after we find you some water, okay?  I think you've been here long enough to get dehydrated."  Sam trailed off as another man came up beside him to give Tony an appraising glance before ignoring him.

"All five of them are here, plus one random chick it must have come in as.  I guess this guy is today's special."  None of that made any sense.  Tony wondered if he had a concussion.

"Tony," he spoke up.  Hell of a first impression to make, but at the moment a whisper was definitely better than the pained whimper he was holding back.

That got the guy's full attention, which was somewhat intimidating.  He was a little older than Sam, younger than Tony, but strength and confidence were clearly his middle names.  "Hey, man.  I'm Dean.  We've got some really bad, fucked-up shit to tell you, but it can wait a while.  First, anything broken?"  He probably wasn't a civilian, but Tony started to feel pretty sure they were the good guys.  Not whoever put him here, at least.

He flexed and twisted where he could.  Something was holding his wrists and ankles behind his back, bur the skin there was too numb to say what.  Instead of torturing his voice again, Tony just shook his head to tell Dean he wasn't too injured to walk.

Dean frowned and crouched down closer.  Tony blinked tiredly, and then it was the first guy in front of him again, with a half-empty Coke bottle aimed for his mouth.  As he took a sip, it was flat but still cold enough to feel fantastic on his vocal chords.  His arms were being slightly jostled, and Tony could guess it was from the rope being untied.  But then it sounded more like cuffs being unlocked.

"There you go.  Gonna sting like a bitch when the blood gets moving, though.  These cuffs were on tight."  Dean walked around him and back into view, dropping something on the ground.

Tony glanced at it as he took another sip.  Sam was quite the patient nursemaid, it seemed.  "Holy shit," he coughed out before remembering how much it would hurt.  The other two men paused in expectant silence until Tony squeezed out a succinct, "My cuffs."  That got some raised eyebrows and a traded look he knew meant they were rethinking something.  Tony hoped it wasn't whether or not to help him.  Quickly going with his gut that these two were trustworthy, he nodded toward his breast pocket.  "Badge," he said.

As Sam fished it out of his jacket, Tony wiggled his limbs.  The pins and needles were just starting in his hands, but his legs felt merely stiff.

"Sorry, but your badge is gone.  Wallet too, I'm sure," said Sam.  He didn't look surprised, though.  Tony sure hoped they knew what to expect right now.  That meant they were working this case already and probably had some leads.  "So, give us a few more minutes, then we'll help get you somewhere safe."  They moved off then, leaving it darker and quiet while their whispers to each other faded with distance.

Tony decided it was time to sit up.  His hands were screaming, so he used his elbows to roll sideways onto his knees, then kneel.  It seemed like a great accomplishment to stand up, until a dizzy wave had him scrambling for the nearest wall to lean against.  When he stopped spinning, his head was pounding.  Tony wondered how long it was since his last meal.  That had felt like a low blood pressure crash.

He struggled to focus on discovering what Sam and Dean were doing.  It looked like they were examining a crime scene top to bottom.  Tony caught sight of at least three dead bodies in various incidental tracks of the flashlights.  Whatever clues they were now finding, he was too far away to see.  After a minute he noticed they weren't wearing gloves, which ruled them out as any sort of cops.  They both moved like competent professionals, though.  Maybe a National Guard search and rescue team?  He was dying to ask questions immediately, but wanted to drink a gallon of water first.  Maybe ice chips.  Smoothie.  No, ice *cream.*

His daydream of a menthol-milkshake was interrupted when Sam and Dean appeared on each side of Tony, ready to take his arms if needed.

"Good to go?" asked Sam.  Damn, he was tall.

Slowly, Tony put one foot in front of the other and nodded.

"This way," Dean said as he took the lead.

Tony praised every patron saint of movie lovers and beat-up government agents when the distance to the nearest exit was only a few minutes.  Climbing up to the ladder was going to suck, but he was pretty sure he could manage without crying like a girl.  Especially since crying would make his current throat pain feel like a gentle headslap by comparison.

It took longer than he would have liked, but his feet finally got onto street level.  They were behind some warehouse that looked well-kept but quiet.  The sun was right overhead, and Tony wondered what day it was.  He'd been planning to stay in Baltimore for the weekend, and it didn't look like a weekday right now.

Sam climbed out right behind him, and Tony saw his heavy duffle for the first time.  It could be army, or just from the surplus store.  But when Sam led him to a beautiful classic Chevy Impala, Tony started to get a little concerned about who these guys were.  Dean was already in the car, talking on his phone.

"Yeah, they're all down there together."  As Tony got into the backseat, Dean didn't seem to change track in his conversation, to Tony's relief.  "I don't know who the other body is.  Figured it didn't matter now, and you guys could worry about that."  Of course, who else talked about the dead so casually?  Maybe private detectives?  "We've got the current guy with us now.  Gonna clean him up and find out who he is."  Dean made eye contact with him in the rear-view mirror.  Sam closed the trunk and got in the car while the phone conversation switched to the other party for a minute.

"I think we're gonna have to give him the whole story," Dean continued.  "That or lock him in your cell for a few days."  Tony's eyes shot wide at that, but he didn't have time to worry before seeing the wink and easy smile on the man's face.  "We may need you to help convince him later.  I'm sure that crime scene will have you tied up the rest of the day, but call me as soon as you come up for air."  Two seconds later the phone was closed.

Tony was now wide awake-- adrenaline easing his pain-- and dying of curiosity.  Dean was still fairly young but was clearly in charge of this situation.  And what were they going to want to convince him of?  After waking up in a sewer surrounded by dead bodies, what else did they think was going to faze him?

Sam cleared his throat.  "Um, Tony, let's hit a drive-thru for you.  When was the last time you ate?"  The car was already pulling out.

Looking at his wrist, Tony just now realized that his Rolex was also gone.  But if it was noon on Saturday, he knew it had been a while.  "Thursday afternoon," he croaked out.

Both men looked at him again in surprise.  "Damn," said Dean.  "You realize it's Sunday?  We're gonna have to ease you back in to solids."

Well, no wonder he was so dehydrated.  As soon as his throat cleared, he was going to have to call Gibbs.  No doubt Craig had gotten worried when Tony missed their dinner on Thursday night, which meant his boss was tearing up the city by now.

The car pulled into a McDonald's.  Tony hadn't been so happy to see one since he was a kid.

"Would you like to try our new--?"

Dean loudly interrupted the squawking box.  "We'll have a couple garden salads with ranch, two of those apple pouches, two junior hamburgers, and a number one with extra bacon and supersize fries."

"Fruit smoothie," Tony added as loud as he could, which meant Dean could barely hear him two feet away with the engine running.

"And a large berry smoothie," Sam yelled out the window on Tony's behalf.

"I'll have you know," Dean told Tony in a normal volume, "I don't order embarrassing shit like this for just anybody.  Consider yourself lucky."  Sam hit him in the arm calmly.  Long-time partners, Tony figured.

"That'll be twenty-one eighty-three at the first window."

By the time they pulled up to the second window, Tony was salivating and about to embarrass himself by lunging for the smoothie he could see waiting on the ledge.  Dean handed it back right away, but the straw was clearly being held hostage and put in the bag to wait on the rest of the order.  Tony threw off the lid and started chugging.

He spluttered when the icy manna from heaven was suddenly wrenched away, and could only stare in shock as Sam started lecturing him about the importance of taking it slow so his stomach wouldn't revolt.  Finally the bag was handed to Dean, and Sam extracted the straw before returning the smoothie with a firm order to sip.

Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of a run-down, cheap motel.  Tony's gut started churning again, and not from the food.  Rule number eight: never assume.  He'd deserve that headslap for sure.  Why weren't they either at a hospital or police station?  He thought briefly about refusing to get out of the car until they'd explained, but knew he'd be no better off there if things really did go south.

He settled for a perfect Gibbs-stare as they all moved inside.  The one that said "start talking or else."  Tony had seen it cower a lot of hardened criminals, but although he got an overly-apologetic grimace from Sam, it was clearly only to compensate for his completely unmoved partner.

Dean tossed the extra salad and the apples in the fridge, sitting himself on the counter as he finished his fries.  Sam took one of the two chairs and indicated that Tony should join him.  Still sipping his smoothie, Tony pulled the chair around and placed it right in front of the door with both men in his line of sight.  His impatience grew when it appeared rock-paper-scissors was the way the two decided who would give the explanations.

Finally Dean rolled his eyes when he lost and opened his mouth.  It was a false start, though, as he seemed to reconsider what he wanted to say.

"What kind of badge do you carry?"

Tony was unimpressed.  "You first."

"Hmm.  Okay, did you ever watch The X-Files?"

Was that random or tangential?  "Sure."

"Well, I'm Mulder and Sam is Scully," Dean said, getting a pen thrown into his forehead for reprisal.  "And you were just introduced to the monster of the week."

Tony grinned.  He could play this game.  "So are we at the start of the episode and don't know what it is, or was that the final clue before catching the bad guy after the next commercial break?  Am I a special guest star or just a redshirt?"  It still hurt to use his voice, but at least it sounded almost normal now.

"Sorry dude, but this is just page two of the script.  Shit's about to get real," Dean said too seriously for Tony's peace of mind.

"Um, Dean, maybe that's not the best approach.  Just start at the beginning," Sam suggested.

"And where is the beginning of this one?  Last month?  Saint Louis?  Six days ago?"  They glared at each other mildly again, reminding Tony of his own team.

"Baltimore," was Sam's answer.

"Fine, whatever.  So, last month a dead John Doe was called in to the Baltimore PD.  They picked it up, and their medical examiner got a bit excited about how strange it was, but mostly no big deal.  The detective that got assigned to look into it got suddenly obsessed with the case a few days later.  Then after a couple weeks, he disappeared.  The case landed on another guy's desk, and he's infatuated within twenty-four hours.  Goes missing after a week.  Same thing with detective number three.  Next, their supervisor gets suspicious, takes the case of the weird body and the missing detectives for himself.  Guy lasts ten days.  Some hotshot from a different precinct gets called in, but we just found his body a few dozen feet away from you in that sewer.  You are the only one left alive of the previous five."  Tony was frozen.  "Did I miss any of the good parts, Sam?"  Dean is still cool as a cucumber, detached and unemotional like a professional should be.  Sam didn't reply, just watched Tony for a reaction.

All the air Tony had started holding expelled slowly, loud in the quiet room.  "What was the last detective's name?" he asked with all the calm he could summon.

"Um," Sam got up and dug through a stack of file folders on the bed behind him.  "It was . . . Craig Kohl."  Their eyes sharpened at seeing Tony's head drop in confirmation.  They were eager to know the connection, but God it was disconcerting to be on the victim side of an interview, however informal.

"I was meeting him for dinner after work on Thursday.  He said something big had happened and he could use my help.  I was a detective at his precinct years ago."  There wasn't anything to be gained by withholding information now.  Tony wanted this perp caught yesterday.  "I work for NCIS now."

But as he looked back up, he saw only blank looks on their faces.  As in, they weren't law enforcement agents themselves if they hadn't been through basic intelligence training and heard about the jurisdiction protocols when military members were involved.

"So, who the hell are *you*?" he demanded.

The reply was only half a beat too late to be fully convincing.  "Private investigators," Sam said so smoothly that Tony mostly bought it, but not entirely.  Both their faces had that non-expression that either meant it was the unremarkable, boring truth . . . or real expertise in lying.  These two would be stellar at undercover work, but that didn't mean they weren't being honest now.

"And you've never heard of NCIS?" he said with blatant suspicion in his voice.

"If we've never crossed paths before, it's because this isn't our usual type of case, and does it *look* like we have a ton of experience?" Dean growled with more irritation than Tony thought warranted.  But if Tony wanted someone off his back, that's the kind of deflection it would usually take.

Of course, it didn't hurt to seem cooperative at this point.  "Naval Criminal Investigative Service," he said.  "We have jurisdiction when a Navy or Marine is involved.  It's not a small department," he advised.

That at least got a smile out of Dean.  "Our dad was a Marine," he said with pride.  "Thought y'all were called NIS without the C?"

More clues he couldn't use yet.  "That was changed a long time ago.  So you two are brothers?"  It would be a tick against them in his internal legitimacy debate, but mostly it confirmed what their behavior with each other looked like.  Tony might be an only child, but most of his friends had siblings who were often around.

"It's the family business," Sam said with sincerity.

"Okay, so if you're PIs and are coordinating with Baltimore PD, why are we hiding out here?"  Time to get down to it.

Sam and Dean exchanged another look, and Dean picked back up explaining.  "Because there's another piece to this puzzle that's keeping you from going home.  And you're not going to believe it, so we're going to spend the next half hour trying to convince you.  After that, you can come with us, stay here voluntarily, or stay locked in my trunk involuntarily.  But we're going to have to go catch this guy soon, and we can't have you slowing us down or getting in the way."

Neither of them looked surprised when he laughed, but they did after he said, "You sound just like my boss."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean wanted to know.

"Rule number sixteen: If someone thinks they have the upper hand, break it."  He knew the grin was out of place, but it was nice to have familiarity with this kind of stern personality.

"They make you learn the rules by number?" frowned Sam in disapproval.

"Ha!  No, that's just if you work for Gibbs.  He's a legend because he's no-nonsense and terrifying," said Tony with a fond expression that would earn him extra paperwork for a month if his boss could see it.  "And I need to call him A-sap.  Tell me the rest; I can handle it."

"I didn't say you couldn't handle it.  I said you won't believe it.  You're gonna think that we're liars or lunatics, but we have a limited timeframe to work with," warned Dean.

"Okay.  Is this a theory or is there proof?"

"We can give you proof-- if you cooperate," Sam said.  "I have an idea, Dean.  Let's call Tony's phone on speaker.  And his boss.  At the same time, even.  If," he stared hard at Tony, "If you'll be able to resist saying a word, and I mean *no* sound.  Listening privileges only.  Then give us five minutes to explain after the calls  before we let you call Gibbs right back."  The guy's face was so earnest and entreating, he surely had most people eating out of his hands despite the intimidating size.

Extremely curious now, Tony nodded and even threw in a finger over his lips.

Dean seemed to know what Sam intended.  "Tony, what kind of car do you drive?"

"At the moment?" his tone turned sad.  "An '07 Camero that a friend sold me for a song.  It's not bad, the seats are pretty comfy, but it doesn't have the effect on the chicks that my 1990 Corvette did before it was stolen.  And the '66 Mustang that got blown up by a terrorist a couple years ago was so sweet, it wasn't worth trying to replace."

"Oh, God," muttered Sam.

Dean just gave him an approving ear-to-ear smile.  "Man, I wish we could have hung out before scaring you off.  Kindred spirits.  So when's the last time you had it in the shop?"

Tony had to think for a moment.  Naturally, he itched to check his missing phone's calendar.  "First Tuesday of last month.  It was crazy busy, but I had that stupid 'check engine' light keep going off."

"Perfect.  Okay, what's the name of the shop?"

"Al's Classics.  He did good with my first sweetheart, and lets me bring the newbie out of pity."  That got another grin out of Dean.

"Sounds like a guy I'd let handle my baby."  Then he got serious.  "Okay, Sam's gonna call your boss and ask him questions about you.  Just go with us, here.  Can you give him a cover?  HR, maybe?"

"That would work.  What kind of questions?"

Sam pulled out a pen and paper.  "Anything that won't sound suspicious.  Maybe we had a computer glitch and need to confirm your last day off?"

"Sure.  Ask him which of my days were medical leave two months ago.  They're always fussing when I clock in while I'm supposed to be out.  I'm sure Gibbs can give you an earful."  Tony still couldn't guess what they were trying to accomplish here.

"Last name?" Sam asked, and Tony immediately realized it was an opportunity to send a signal to Gibbs that something was hinky.  If he said DiNardo . . . .

But Dean saw it too.  "Hey, I swear this is the only way to give you proof that we're not crazy."  Damn it, he realized he liked the guy now, and it was affecting his judgment.

"Then it's time to tell me the crazy part."

"This guy isn't just killing people," Sam blurted out quickly, like he wanted to prevent Dean from doing it insensitively.  "He's kidnapping them to steal their identities.  Not like identity theft, but he actually makes himself look and sound and act like them.  Good enough to fool their friends and family."  The brothers looked serious and slightly wary of his reaction.

Tony gave them the benefit of the doubt for five whole seconds while he considered it.  Then he shook his head.  "No one's *that* good."

"Well, that's what we're about to see.  Or hear, rather."  Sam was watching him closely with those sympathetic eyebrows again.  "Dean's gonna call your phone and let you listen in.  See for yourself how convincing this guy is.  At the same time, I'll talk to your boss and find out if he thinks you're still you.  Following?"

Yeah, that made the past few minutes make sense, but it was still absurd.  Maybe this guy could act like a regular person, but Tony's team would have caught on at first glance.  Of course, it was Sunday.  "Lucky for you, my job is for workaholics.  They're probably both in the office right now.  But if this dude messes with my memorabilia on my desk, he won't live to face trial," he warned.  He'd let Sam and Dean dig their own graves with this stunt, then he'd let Gibbs ram that lesson home.  "Last name is DiNozzo.  Capitol N," and he got up to move over to the table and write Gibbs' phone number on Sam's paper.  Dean tossed him a phone, and he punched in his own cell number.

While they looked at him like waiting for more naysaying, Tony returned to his seat in front of the door with an air of low expectations.

"Alright, don't say we didn't warn you," said Dean as he hit send, then speaker.  It rang three times.

"Hello?" said Tony's own voice, with that same impatient inflection he always used with an unfamiliar caller ID.

"Mr. DiNozzo?  This is Dean at Al's Classics shop."

"Okay, can I help you?"  Wow.  It was definitely his voice.

"I'm afraid we've found an error in our billing records.  You came in several weeks ago, but your credit card payment never cleared.  Can I get a different card from you?"

"What?  That's not possible.  It was just some computer glitch on my newfangled car that Jeff had sorted out in ten minutes.  He said he'd knock half off the fee and then rang me up himself."

Tony-- the real Tony-- felt his jaw fall into his lap.  There was *no way* someone else could have got that right.  When Dean eyed a question at him, Tony just nodded absently.  The details were dead-on.

"Well I'm afraid Jeff didn't make a record of that, sir.  Do you happen to remember the date?"  Dean played his part easily, staying casual while chit-chatting with a serial killer.  He moved off into the open bathroom to continue the conversation, where Tony could still hear his own voice arguing about the bill.

That was Sam's cue to start his call, and though Tony was still reeling, he was eager to hear from Gibbs.  His gut was screaming to take the opportunity to tip off his boss that Tony's . . . doppelganger . . . couldn't be trusted.  But Sam and Dean had already proved they knew more than he did so far, and for some reason they didn't want to let Gibbs know just yet.  As long as it was all sorted out before the end of the day, Tony was willing to wait until he had a bigger picture of this insane perp.

"Gibbs," came the terse tone out of Sam's speaker.

"Excuse me, sir, this is Sam Wesson in HR.  I have just a quick issue you can resolve for us."  Sam was also good at the con.

"Make it quick," his boss insisted.

"We're a bit confused because month before last, your Agent DiNozzo was cleared for a week of medical leave, which you signed off on, but we also have your signature on his timesheet as being in the office that same week.  Just for our records, can you recall which file I should log?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Gibbs asked with exasperation.

"Because that would be a conflict of interest, and your signature is what matters."  Sam looked like he believed every word out of his mouth.

"He gets paid whether he's here or not, right?  He probably came in that week because we were tracking down a guy who was preying on teenage girls and DiNozzo has his priorities straight!"

Tony couldn't help snickering quietly, since it was always fun to watch his boss yell at someone else.  Sam quickly turned his back in order to keep his straight face.  "I'm glad to hear that, sir.  Thank you for clearing things up.  Should I set aside these unused sick days to be available to him later in the year?  He'd still need a doctor's note to use them, though.  Actually, why don't I just save those questions for your agent himself.  He's not in the office today, I don't suppose?"

"He is, but he's on another call."  Sam turned back to catch Tony's eye.

"Really?" his voice only sounded pleasantly surprised.  "Does he usually come in on Sundays or are y'all on another big case?"

"This is normal.  Now, if there's nothing else?"  Tony's heart sank after the word *normal*.  No, it's not! he wanted to call out.  You really have to choose *this* time to be wrong, boss?

Despondently, Tony went over to the fridge and tore into one of the apple packs while the two brothers ended their calls.  At their expectant looks, he pouted a bit.  "It's not possible, you know.  Something is seriously weird here."  He noticed how carefully they both did *not* react to his words and realized there was still more to this.

"Plus, it doesn't make any sense," he said, pointing an apple slice at them.  "What's this guy's motive?  Climbing the career ladder quickly?  Does he get off on conning more and more--"  A new thought burst in.  "What if he's done being me?  Is Gibbs next?  Or the director of NCIS?  The Secretary of the Navy?  President?!"  Now he was getting a bit hysterical, but Tony knew he needed to call Gibbs and read him in quick.

"We have no idea," Dean said bluntly.  "But I want to stop him tonight, so it shouldn't matter *why* the guy's a loony toon.  How long is the drive from here?"  Sam started gathering their things and packing up.

"Less than an hour on Sunday," Tony said, stuffing apples into his mouth and grabbing the remaining salad and burgers.  "I'm going to need to borrow a gun," he pointed out.

That stopped Dean, who was pulling knives out from under the bed pillows and shotguns from every corner.  "I don't think so, buddy.  Your legs are still shaky, and you can't tell real meat from imitation spam.  Let us handle him.  You can try to get your boss and his boss and whoever into a highly public place for tonight, or whatever.  But me and Sam work better alone."  There was a no-arguments-accepted finality to his tone that got Tony thinking about Gibbs again.

"I need to call my boss back right *now* and get him--"

"You can't do that," Sam interrupted.  "Look, right now surprise is the only thing on our side.  We can't risk Gibbs somehow tipping this guy off.  He reads people, remember?  Besides, they're pretty secure where they're at now, aren't they?  We'll be there in an hour, you said."  It was all spat out quickly, but was still logical and rational enough that Tony couldn't find a legitimate counter.  He certainly didn't agree, but they just didn't know Gibbs like he did.

"Let's  move this discussion to the Impala," ordered Dean, already opening the door and jobbing to the motel office to check out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Traffic, of course, refused to cooperate.  Tony couldn't imagine how that semi managed to tip over on a flat stretch of highway across all five lanes, while Dean was more interested in cursing the driver for pulling his stunt fifty yards in front of them, leaving no exit route on this stretch until the truck was righted and hauled away.

The only upside was that Tony had time to eat all of the remaining food, found an empty cup rolling at his feet to pee into, and was feeling eighty percent better than he did just four hours ago.  Plus, he and Dean had gotten to show off everything they knew about cars.  He learned their last name was Winchester when he asked about the initials carved on the door to his left.  But Tony had yet to find common ground with Sam, who was sort of a geek with muscles and actual social skills.  The kid had actually left poverty to attend a name brand college on a full ride, while Tony had left the silver spoon for a public university as a basketball walk-on.  Dean found that irony hilarious, of course.

Finally they pulled into D.C.  Since it was now nearly six, Tony was going to be dropped off at Gibbs' house to fill him in and stay the night.  Sam and Dean hoped to stake out and follow the creepycopy, as Tony had named him.  They didn't know if the guy would go to Tony's apartment or follow his own agenda, but they planned to end it as soon as they could catch him alone.  It went unspoken that the guy wasn't going to just be getting a citizens' arrest, but Tony had no objection.  Such a strange case would be tied up in legal for years before justice was sorted out.  This freak had killed five of Baltimore's detectives, and who knew how many people before that.  But Tony was glad to be left out of this part of the equation; no lying would be required to Gibbs or his conscience.  He jotted Gibbs' phone number on a burger wrapper and handed it to Sam.

"So straight on down this road for a mile, left at Douglas, right at Elm, then get on the beltway and follow the signs.  Ten minutes, tops.  There's a small parking lot across from the Yard that you can watch from.  My Camero's dark green."  The Impala was idling in Gibbs' driveway, and suddenly Tony was reluctant to get out.

"You'll call us when it's clear to go back to my apartment, right?"  With their elusiveness, he was fairly sure they wouldn't be back to shake his hand, but no way did he want to be left wondering.

Sam seemed to get it.  He pulled a blank business card out of his wallet and wrote two phone numbers with an S and D beside them.  As he handed it over the seat, they exchanged genuine smiles.  "You've been a huge help, man," Sam started.

"Yadda, yadda," Dean prodded.  "Tony, you're swell.  Now get outta here so we can get going," he said with a grin.

"I owe you guys.  Call it in anytime."  Tony exited and waved them off, feeling strange walking into Gibbs' house alone and empty handed.

He stretched his cramped muscles out on the couch and tried not to count the minutes going by while he waited for Gibbs.  When it passed thirty, Tony got up to call his boss' cell, but just then the Charger pulled into the driveway.  Getting out the silver knife the Winchesters had given him, Tony waited for an opportune moment, already dreading the rage he was about to provoke.  Probably there would be chokeholds and more bruises in his near future.

Somehow Gibbs knew the house wasn't empty, because he peeked just his head around the kitchen door before entering to set down the grocery sacks in his arms.  "I thought you said you had plans tonight, DiNozzo?"

"Got any more to bring in, boss?" Tony moved further into the kitchen with the knife up his sleeve.

"No, that's it.  So why are you--"  Gibbs needed less than a second to disarm Tony and trap him against the sink after his arm was pricked.  "What the HELL, DiNozzo?!"

"Oh thank God you're really you, boss.  Don't worry, I'm explaining already.  You see, there's this perp we're chasing, and he can--"

"What?  We did paperwork all day!"  Yeah, that was a look on Gibbs' face that had never before been aimed at Tony.

He rushed to get the story out.  "I swear, that wasn't me.  I've been in Baltimore all weekend, until about an hour ago.  *That's* the guy.  He imitates his victims completely head to toe and voice included.  I would *not* make up this kind of crap, Gibbs."  His serious tone seemed to get through.

"That's impossible," but Gibbs was already pulling back and pointing Tony into a chair.  While he himself remained standing on guard for another attack, of course, but it could easily be worse.

"I know!  I didn't believe it either, and I woke up this morning in the guy's actual *lair* surrounded by dead bodies.  With no memory after Thursday!  Trust me, it's real."

Gibbs just stared.

"That phone call you got today from HR?  It was phony, as was the one keeping the creepycopy occupied while you talked.  I was listening in on both calls.  It was the only way they could convince *me* that I had been clone.  God, it was so awful.  He sounded exactly like me and knew things he couldn't have."

Now Gibbs started frowning.  "Who are 'they'?"

Tony sighed, more than a little embarrassed about this part.  "The two PIs who found me unconscious, fed me, drove me back here, and are going after the perp as we speak.  They were something else, boss, I gotta tell ya.  About 30 years old, but could read that crime scene like old pros.  No badge, but as far as I could see the Baltimore PD was following their lead.  Brothers who said being PIs was the family business.  Dad was a Marine, by the way.  The older one, Dean, reminded me of you.  I'm not convinced they told me their real bios; I think those two could con Mike Franks out of his hammock.  But I swear, they knew this case and this guy top to bottom, and I trust them that much."

"Okay, DiNozzo, I hear you."  Gibbs was still staring at him.  Tony *was* rambling, he supposed.  "But why the hell did you try to stab me?"

"Oh come on, it was barely a prick," Tony scoffed.  "We don't know what the guy wants, but recently he's been moving up the ranks.  He might have been after you next.  Sam and Dean somehow found out that he's allergic to silver, so that knife was just to prove you're not him."  Then he remembered, "Sorry, of course."

Gibbs merely turned and started putting his groceries away.  Tony was starting to be concerned at the lack of apocalyptic response that he'd expected.  "So you're not gonna--"

*Smack!*

Ah, there it was.  Well, at least Gibbs wasn't a pod person.  "I was going to say, why aren't you demanding to go hunt the guy down?  Calling in the team or something?"

"Should we?  Sounds like you trust those other guys to get it done."

"Yeah, I do.  But since when do you ever sit back and let someone else handle a case themselves?"  Tony got up and started helping put away the cans, but Gibbs had paused.

Restarting, Gibbs put the last of the tv dinners in the freezer before sitting slowly while Tony finished up.  After a moment, he finally said, "I'm still not happy that this guy fooled me.  I can't think of anything he said or did today that was even a little suspicious.  The suspicious part is what he *did* know.  I gave him some forms and he handed them back filled out right, just as quick as you would have.  At one point he threw a wrapper in Ziva's trashcan the same way you always ricochet it when she's not looking.  Does he know our classified stuff, too?"

Gibbs looked pretty worried, and Tony was getting there too.  "I didn't realize it went that far," he admitted.  "Yeah, he could have accessed anything on my computer.  We'll have to have McGee check for any tampering or something tomorrow morning, see if anything was copied or sent elsewhere.  But Sam and Dean are probably already on his tail.  They said they'd call us as soon as it's over so I can go home.   Let's give 'em another hour or two before we panic.  Most likely some of our questions will be answered then."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Actually, at that moment, Sam and Dean were rolling their eyes as the shapeshifter pulled Tony's car into a local mall.

"We don't have to follow him inside," Dean said firmly with a finger held up for emphasis.  Sam didn't bother trying to argue.

"Look, let me out at the door, and I'll watch him inside.  You watch his car.  But we can't take the chance that he somehow made us and is going to switch vehicles or even bodies while we both sit on our asses out here."

"Fine, fine.  Better you than me."  He pulled up to the curb and let Sam out just as fake-Tony entered the building.

Dean drove up and down a few aisles, looking for a good space that had a line of sight to Tony's Camero without being right next to it.  His Impala was so awesome that the 'shifter would be likely to notice seeing it twice, and he didn't want to risk keeping too far back when the guy got on the road again.  Settling in, Dean turned off the engine and cranked up the radio, smirking that Sam willingly volunteered to visit yuppieland.  Malls were even worse on the weekend than they were just on general principle.  Tony was tall enough not to get lost in the crowds, though.  And when the DJ announced it was time to get the Led out for a half-hour block, it felt like all was right in the world.  About to gank a monster with a kick-ass soundtrack.  He hoped that alternate-reality tv show about them got the music right, at least.  Poor Chuck could have sold more books if they'd come with a mix tape.  Or whatever they were called now.  Playlists.  Dean spent several minutes thinking of the perfect tracks for book one.

Sam's ringtone interrupted his zen, of course.

"Yeah?"

"This is weird, Dean.  He's just walking around, not buying anything or even shopping.  Just stopping to flirt or schmooze with anyone who makes eye contact.  Just now he spent a minute with some frumpy mom, giving her little kids extra coins to throw in the fountain."

Okay, that was strange.  "Well, Tony's a charming, handsome dude.  Maybe this is his usual weekend hobby?"  Not likely, but it was Dean's job to argue with Sam anyway.

"I don't like this, Dean."

"Yeah, but it doesn't change anything.  Unless you can corner him in an empty restroom, all we can do is keep tailing him.  Hell, there's cameras everywhere, even here in the parking lot.  Just keep watching, unless you want to add to your rap sheet."

"Should we call Tony?" said Sam, grasping for something to be done.

"Still wouldn't change the plan.  Might want to warn him about his hundred new BFFs later."  Dean realized it would help Sam blend in with the masses better to stay on the phone.  "I bet Tony would make a good hunter."

Sam's scoff was audible even over the background noise from the crowd.  "It takes more than an appreciation for classic cars and carrying a gun, you know."

"Don't forget he stayed cool after waking up in a sewer.  And he already knows how to track down bad guys."

"I bet he does more paperwork than actual crime solving.  You remember how Henriksen complained about that."

"And *that's* my favorite part of hunting, Sam.  The most paperwork I ever have to do is filling out credit applications."

"I bet he's good at research, though."

"Now you're talking!  Think we can convince him that we usually chase ghosts?  Then we could cash in that favor with cold, hard hours wading through government databases.  Think of the access he probably has!"

"I think if you tried telling him, he'd revoke the offer and quite possibly lock you up himself.  Then he'd find your FBI file."

"Yeah, yeah.  Let a man have his dreams.  I bet he'd even--"

"Hey, I think the show's finally coming to a close.  We're back to the door we came in."

"I'm parked two rows to your right."

Back to work.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	2. Chapter 2

They followed him for another hour and a half on what seemed like random, spontaneous errands.  One gas station for gas, another for snacks.  A barber's that was mysteriously open on Sunday night, where apparently they only took off a quarter inch, because it didn't look much different when he came out.  A nail salon of all things, which Dean was eager to tease Tony about.  Pedicure, he guessed.  One upscale organic produce market, emerging with only a small sack.  A trip to the standard grocery store ending with a whole bag, but without going back to Tony's apartment to unload it.

But the museum currently in front of them was different.

It was obvious that some black-tie formal party was going on.  Tony's car pulled up to the valet, where the 'shifter got out wearing a suit jacket that made his work clothes look dressy enough to fit in.  As he reached the security in front of the doors, they could see him flash Tony's badge and pull aside the jacket slightly before being nodded on inside.

"Should we tell the guards they let an armed and psycho monster crash the party?" muttered Sam.

"I think we'd better go in this time.  There's probably some big-wig government officials in there, and I bet one of them is who the guy wants to be next.  Our suits are in the trunk.  Come on."

But Sam shook his head.  "I don't think that'll get us in.  There're probably tickets or a guest list we won't be on, plus we've got to bring in our silver bullets and knives.  We could flash our FBI badges, but then we'd be on camera as suspects if this goes south."

"Sneak in the back?"

"I guess so.  Wait, how about we knock out the back guards and go in with their uniforms?"

"Sounds even better.  Wear our guns openly.  And once we spot him, maybe we can radio in the threat so the other room'll get cleared out."

"Yeah.  Let's hurry.  I don't know how quickly this 'shifter can change bodies."

They drove around the building and parked a block over.  If anything went wrong, Dean didn't want his baby picked up on the cameras in a suspicious place.  Grabbing their weapons, they put extra clips of silver bullets in their pockets and walked casually to the museum's rear.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang at Gibbs' house.  He and Tony were in the basement keeping their hands busy.  They were both watching the clock and itching to call Dean themselves, so Tony reached for his missing cell before it registered that the land line was ringing.

Gibbs did a double take at the caller ID and looked at Tony as he answered.  "What is it, McGee?"

Putting away the wood he'd been sanding, Tony couldn't guess why Tim would be calling the boss' house on a Sunday night.  Maybe he wanted a sick day tomorrow?

Gibbs' eyes widened almost comically at whatever he heard.  "No, they won't let us near this.  Call the girls and I'll meet you at the office after I've talked to the Director."  The way the phone slammed down was not a good sign.

"What is it?"

His boss' eyes were still wild as he took the stairs two at a time.  Tony had seen that horror-struck look only a handful of times in the past decade, and his own heart rate exploded as adrenaline kicked in.  Catching up to Gibbs in the living room, he found the tv being warmed up and flipped to CNN.

Which is where he saw his face front and center over the words "Breaking News: Multiple Assassinations in DC."

"What the HELL?!"

"We'll set this straight, Tony.  But we're going to have to do it carefully, by the book."  Gibbs was still slightly freaked out, but it was pale beside the panic attack Tony was about to have.

As his mouth hung open, the phone rang again.

Not recognizing the caller number, Gibbs answered cautiously.  He was worried that it might already be the media.  The news screen had just changed to show a security camera's clear view of Tony's creepycopy opening fire on-- oh God, was that the Vice President?

"Hello?"

"I need to talk to Tony!" yelled a deep voice, loud enough for Tony to have heard it.

"That's Dean!" he exclaimed as he grabbed the phone from Gibbs.  "Dean, what the hell happened to stopping the guy?!" he demanded.

Gibbs snatched the phone back and put it on speaker.

". . . following him to this fancy party.  Sam and I were five minutes behind him getting in, but that's when he started shooting.  By the time we got close enough to take him out, he'd gotten off at least ten shots.  I don't know how many hit anyone, but--"

"Six," Tony yelled angrily, having seen it on the muted tv while Dean was talking.

"Shit. I'm sorry, man."

"Oh, God.  You don't know who the victims were."

"Wait, how'd you know there were six?"

"It's all over the news.  One of them is the Vice President!  Of America!  And he shot the Secretary of Defense, the Air Force Chief of Staff, two congressmen, and a museum worker."

"Dude, it just happened ten minutes ago."  Dean sounded slightly rattled at the list, but not enough in Tony's opinion.

"It's the twenty-first century!" he pointed out scathingly.  "And my picture is the main story!"

"Crap.  Yeah, that's what we were calling to tell you.  I'm sorry about this, Tony, I really am.  But you're going to have to disappear.  Tonight."

"What?!  No, we're going to prove me innocent and then figure out who the creepycopy really is."

"Are you still at Gibbs'?"

"Yeah, but we're about to go to the Navy Yard."  Tony glanced at Gibbs, who nodded.

"We'll meet you at Gibbs' in ten minutes."  They could hear the car doors slam and the engine turn over.  "There's more to this that you need to know before you try and come back from the dead.  Just hear us out first."  It wasn't pleading, but close enough that Tony believed him.

"So the copycat guy is dead?" Gibbs spoke up.  The news hadn't shown that on the screen, and they still had the sound off.

"Agent Gibbs, I assume?  Yeah, Sam and I got there in time to actually take him out, which the other four guards' weapons couldn't do.  It's part of what we need to talk about.  He was planning to just walk back out the door as somebody else.  Look, I'm sorry we couldn't prevent this completely, but no one knew this guy was looking for anything besides a new identity to steal."

"I expect the *full* story in a few minutes," Gibbs ordered.

"Yes, sir," Dean answered seriously, then hung up before he could be told to drop the 'sir.'

Tony just sat down and turned up the volume.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Dean, how do you really expect to convince two genuine feds that a monster is real?" Sam was getting worried.  "They're gonna think we're lying, then they'll arrest us as suspects and take us in for questioning.  And look up our records!  Oh, God.  Dean, we can't go talk to them in person!  Just do it over the phone."

"Look, if Tony doesn't run, then *he* is gonna go down for assassinating the Vice President."

"What?!  Holy shit!"

"Yeah, and all those other victims were important dudes, too."

"Okay, but we can still convince him on the phone," Sam argued.

"They'll just hang up on us when we start to sound crazy!"

Dean had a point, but Sam didn't want to admit it.  "So how does tonight *not* end with all three of us in jail?"  That was unacceptable, even if it meant sacrificing Tony.  Sam shuddered to think what the legal system would do to Dean.

"We can take down two old guys if necessary.  They won't be expecting us to have our weapons on, and Tony doesn't even have one."

"I'm pretty sure they're experienced with suspects who run."  Sam was resigned to Dean not backing down, but still strongly dreading the upcoming confrontation.

"Hey, if you're not fast enough, I'll break you out of jail."

"Ha, ha.  Great plan, Dean.  They'd better believe us.  Do we have any hard evidence?  Of *anything* paranormal?"  They both thought about it for a couple minutes.

"I guess we could summon some ghost they'd know," Dean offered.

"That takes hours.  I doubt they'll be willing to wait that long."

"True."

"What if they called someone who's seen the supernatural?  Like Detective Ballard?"

"She's a good idea, but they wouldn't trust any number we gave them.  I'd be too easy to have an accomplice on the other end.  Maybe do some other magic spell?"

"I don't know if that would help them believe in a shapeshifter."

"Well crap, Sam.  I'm out of ideas.  How do we usually convince civilians?"

"We don't even try unless they've already seen something unexplainable."

"Shit.  Shit!  This is going to go badly."

"That's been my point all along," Sam said darkly.

"Don't worry.  I've got an idea, but it's a last resort.  First we can just focus on convincing Tony he can't walk down the street with that newly-infamous face."

"Yeah.  Should we stop off and pick up some hair dye?"

Dean shook his head.  "They weren't happy about waiting ten minutes.  Can't afford the delay.  I bet we can get him disguised easily enough later, as long as no one else knows he's at Gibbs'."

"Gibbs sounds like the one who could cause the most trouble," Sam pointed out.  "Tony might get on board for self-preservation, but his boss will want to save the guy's reputation."

"Shit."

The car was quiet for a few minutes until they arrived back in front of Gibbs' house.  Dean parked backwards in front of the garage, hoping that trapping the feds in and leaving himself ready for a fast getaway would both turn out to be unnecessary.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ten minutes of listening to the media talk about his bio and speculate on his motives to kill the country's leaders had Tony reeling in emotions.  The disbelief and denial were starting to fade, followed by extreme embarrassment and growing into outrage and fury.  How dare this lunatic completely ruin a lifetime of being an upstanding guy.  Tony could admit that he liked to think of himself as a hero, and now it was devastating to see how quickly others could think of him as the evil villain.

Gibbs kept glaring at the screen like his force of will alone was going to fix this.  Twice now he'd even clapped Tony on the back, which revealed a lot about his own agitation.  If even his boss was worried, Tony knew the future was going to be brutal.

Finally they heard a loud engine pull up in the driveway.  Neither man moved away from the tv, but the Winchesters didn't wait to be let in.  Sam and Dean came through the front door without knocking, and got their first look at the media circus they had avoided at the museum.

Tony's official NCIS badge photo had never left the screen, staying up in the corner even while the focus was on a reporter or the security footage of the shooting.  It didn't seem to surprise the brothers, but Tony appreciated Sam's wince.  Dean walked over and pointed at a part of the screen, where two security guards soon entered behind the main action, shot once each, then walked out of view.

"That was us," he said simply.

Sam quickly added, "We would have made the body disappear if it hadn't been a public place,"  It sounded like an apology.

"Why?" demanded Gibbs.  "That's the evidence that it wasn't Tony."  He clicked the tv off and turned his most intimidating persona on the two young men.  Tony them remembered that they hadn't met.

"Boss, this is Dean and brother Sam," with a nod to which was which.  "Guys, this is Gibbs.  And he's right-- the copycat's body won't match my fingerprints or DNA."

Sam shook his head and started to open his mouth, but Dean spoke up first, completely changing directions.  "Tony, if you step out the door right now, anyone who gets a glimpse of you is gonna scream bloody murder.  Three days without shaving won't be enough to keep people from recognizing you.  The public is already sure you're guilty."

"Fine.  Then we'll throw on a hat on our way to the office," said Gibbs.  "This will all be sorted out before morning."

"Even if there was a retraction," said Sam, "Tony's face is going to be notorious for a long time to come."  He looked at his brother as he spoke with an expression that showed they had some sort of past experience with the situation.

"It's okay, guys," Tony said.  "I appreciate you wanting to look out for me, but I can handle all that.  I'm actually not bad at going undercover."

Gibbs scoffed at the understatement, but added, "You can crash here as long as it takes, DiNozzo."

It got a small smile.  "Thanks, boss."

Dean cleared his throat and sounded very uncomfortable when he spoke up.  "Um, actually the dead body *is* going to match Tony's DNA and fingerprints."

For a moment, it seemed like a joke, and Tony wanted to laugh.  But the Winchesters both looked like they were sorry to be breaking the bad news.

"Seriously, that's not possible," Tony reassured them.

"Not normally, no.  But we're, um, not exactly normal PIs," Dean admitted.  "Our specialty is cases that seem impossible, and we've actually come across this same thing twice before.  The copy's body will match yours right down to the paper cut you got last week.  And whether you believe us or not right now, in a couple of days the autopsy report will confirm it.  So I need you to re-think how easy it's going to be to claim your life back.  Because just trying is going to be a nightmare, messy in ways I don't wanna guess.  But even if you win, that doubt will never go away in the minds of the public after the media's dissected you ten ways from Sunday.  And add that to wearing a famous face and name, well, not only is it going to be fucking difficult to do your job, but I don't think you're going to *want* to be 'Tony DiNozzo' anymore."

It was quite the impassioned speech, and it was clear that Sam and Dean believed it was true.

Silence followed for a moment before Gibbs broke it.  "I'll be damned if I let Tony's reputation go down for someone else."

"I know you won't, boss."  Tony smiled at him affectionately.  "But what if they're right?  Maybe we should wait a couple of days?"

"They're con men, DiNozzo.  You haven't even known them for twenty-four hours, and you're just going to take their word about the DNA?  You *know* that isn't *possible.*"

Tony looked at the Winchesters, expecting them to protest or argue, and it threw him a bit when they just sat there.  Torn between his boss' point and his own gut-level trust in these two brothers, Tony dropped his head in his hands, rubbing his temples in avoidance of the headache that was growing.  Gibbs was right that Sam and Dean hadn't earned the right to violate the laws of nature on their own say-so.  He looked up at them and challenged, "Who are you really?  In a few minutes we're going to look you up anyway, so here's your chance to earn some trust."

They exchanged glances long enough that Tony was afraid it was going to turn into rock-paper-scissors again, which would *not* make a good impression on Gibbs.  Or maybe they were just deciding how much to disclose, judging from the unhappy look on Sam's face when Dean started talking.

"We haven't lied to you.  Our real names are Sam and Dean Winchester, and we investigate crap that is supposed to be impossible.  We were called onto this one by Detective Diana Ballard at the Baltimore PD because we helped her five years ago . . . when she was attacked by a ghost.  Yes, I said ghost, and you can look her up later for the whole story."  Gibbs frowned but didn't interrupt.  "Twenty eight years ago, our mother was killed by something equally unbelievable.  When Dad found out that supernatural evil was real, he got pretty obsessed with protecting us from it and getting revenge for Mom.  The monster that we were hunting tonight is called a shapeshifter.  And if you look up my file, it's going to say that I died in Saint Louis in 2006 with DNA and fingerprints to match.  That particular bastard liked to torture women, so his crimes are in my file too.  Along with a few other times when we've been blamed for being around at the same time and place as a monster."

"So you're criminals, and this is the best story you've got?"  The tone was not amused, and Tony was pretty sure Gibbs was about to pull his gun on the Winchesters.

"Boss, wait."

"What if we can prove it?" asked Dean.  He looked calm and also ready to bolt.  Sure of himself, but still concerned for Tony.

"Look, either way, Gibbs really needs to go now," Tony said. "Let's err on the side of caution, boss.  Give these guys the benefit of the doubt just until the autopsy report.  Yes, the DNA can't possibly match mine, but on the off chance that we're wrong . . . .  Well, he's right that it would be a huge mess I'd rather avoid.  So go on in and investigate 'my' killing spree as much as they'll allow, but don't let the cat out of the bag about the real me just yet.  In the meantime, we can look into Sam and Dean's story."  Tony gave them a look that threatened serious harm if they were anything less than honest.

Gibbs looked consideringly at all of them.  "Okay, DiNozzo, it's your life so it's your call," he said easily, surprising Tony.  "But if you two try to run now, you'll be looking over your shoulders, because I will personally hunt you down."  He glared until they showed an agreement with sharp nods.  "Good.  Now move your damn car out of my way before I call a tow."

With that same self-assured composure, Dean got up and walked out the door.

"Tony's got our numbers," offered Sam.  "We'll find a motel and come back in the morning."

"No," ordered Gibbs.  "I want you to stay here with DiNozzo, where he can keep an eye on you," he pointed out, making a show out of passing his own gun to Tony.  "Prove to us that your story is air-tight."  It wasn't a suggestion.

"Alright."  Sam held his hands in a surrender gesture.  "I'll just send Dean out to pick up some dinner."

"Plenty in the kitchen, so help yourselves.  I'll be calling--  No, wait.  I don't want any of you answering my phone if we're pretending you're not here.  Just give me your number.  And tell your brother to pull into the garage and keep the door closed.  DiNozzo, sit on them."

"Yes, boss!"  Tony smiled at the momentary normalcy while Sam held out his hand for Gibbs' phone and quickly added himself as S.W. 785-555-0129.

Gibbs took it back and confirmed it by immediately dialing, hanging up as soon as Sam's pocket started to buzz.

The door opened and Dean walked in.  Ignoring him, Gibbs left through the garage.

"He wants you to hide your car in the garage.  We're staying here tonight," Sam explained.

"Seriously?"  Dean was shocked.

Tony held up Gibbs' gun and waved it in demonstration.  "He thinks I can keep you from running off when we get the autopsy report proving you wrong," he said mockingly.

"And what do you think?" asked Dean.

"I'm ready to consider the possibility that something really fucking weird happened here.  So tell me about the other one in Saint Louis."

"Okay.  Let me move the car and grab something to eat."

"All-you-can-eat bachelor fridge.  Bring in your bags."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sam and Tony were putting together ham sandwiches when Dean re-entered through the other door.  None of them had eaten since McDonald's, which seemed forever ago.

Dean found some beers in the fridge and pulled them out.  Sitting down at the table, he was quiet while they finished.  As Sam put the platter on the table, Tony got out the plates.  Good teamwork, Dean noticed.

And that was when it occurred to him that his meaningless rambling earlier with Sam about taking Tony on a hunt might actually be a possibility now that the poor guy's life was ruined.  What else was he ever going to be able to do?

"It's called hunting," Dean said as Tony sat down.  "What we do.  There aren't a lot of us, but enough that most things get handled before they cause enough problems to get noticed by the press.  Or the feds."

They all ate while Tony contemplated the idea of things that go bump in the night.

"What exactly are these paranormal things you hunt?"

"Probably half are spirits," Sam answered.  "There are different types of those, but they're fairly straightforward.  Sometimes we find creatures that are mutant forms of human, like a shapeshifter.  Things like werewolves, windegos, vampires.  Our personal specialty is demons, which is what killed our mom."

"You're kidding me," said Tony with a growing grin.  "If you really think I'm going to listen to you retell the plot of some monster movies, I have to warn you that I know them all by heart."  The idea that they expected him to believe in *vampires* was pretty funny.

"Where do you think all those ideas came from?" asked Sam without any sign of humor.

"Aliens aren't real," quipped Dean.  "Pretty sure bigfoot is a hoax."

"So what do you hunt all these different monsters with?" Tony challenged.

Dean grabbed the last sandwich and stood up, gesturing for him to follow.  Sam tagged along as they entered the garage, where Dean hit the lights and opened his trunk.

Tony was honestly taken aback when he saw that the false bottom concealed the strangest combination of weapons and superstitious paraphernalia he'd ever seen.

"Shapeshifters can only be killed with silver," said Sam.  "That's why you saw it get shot a few times by the other guards, but it didn't go down until we put our silver bullets into its heart."  He handed one of the boxes to Tony, who opened it cautiously and discovered a pile of rounds that did indeed look silver.  And slightly rough on one edge, like they were homemade and only partially smoothed down.  "Werewolves have the same weakness."

Sam pointed to a couple of black knives strapped into the top.  "Some spirits are repelled by iron."  He opened what looked like a gas canister and poured something white into his hand. "Salt is a protective symbol of purity that ghosts and demons can't touch."  He replaced the salt and gave Tony a handful of jewelry on leather bands.  "Most of those are protective symbols that have saved our asses a few times.  The crucifix is part of the ritual to consecrate holy water, which can be a weapon against demons."

"Okay, okay.  Look guys, I believe that you're both very convinced that this is all real.  But that doesn't mean you aren't a few fries short of a happy meal."

Dean grabbed and old leather datebook before closing the trunk and leading them back inside.

"Are you really going to show him that?" Sam asked as they sat back down.  Dean cocked an eyebrow as if to say, why not?  "Oh my God," Sam suddenly glared at his brother, audience forgotten for the moment.  "You want to turn him into a hunter."

"Dude, what else is he gonna do?  Besides, we can figure that out later.  This is just to prove our story."

"But you've never let anyone actually read it."

"Never met anyone else I thought needed to know this much."

"It's a shit life, Dean!  No one walks into it voluntarily.  Tony has other options!  He just needs a new name, not a new career."

He needs new fingerprints, genius.  Law enforcement is a closed door.  Does he look like a guy who can disappear into a cash-under-the-table, blue-collar second career?"

"Ahem," Tony cleared his throat.  "I'm kind of at my limit for repressing the panic at my possible impending doom.  Can we have this discussion only after you somehow manage to convince Gibbs and myself that 'Tony DiNozzo' is a lost cause?"  The anger in his voice had definitely gotten their attention.

"Of course," offered Dean.  "And if it makes you feel better, we sometimes still run into things that freak us out."

"Like what?" Tony asked wearily, not really caring but thankful for the topic change.

Sam smirked.  "Faeries."

Dean shuddered.

Tony found himself curious again.  "Tinkerbell?"

"I zapped her in the microwave," Dean said proudly.

"Yeah, you're not helping your case.  That's a load of crap if I've ever heard one."

"Oh, tell him about the giant drunk teddy bear," laughed Sam.

To Tony's amusement, Dean did chuckle at that.  "Man, once you're all in, we're gonna have a field day.  Wait until you hear about the first time we met a Trickster."

"Or when Dean thought a rugaru was a made-up word."

"Shut up.  It *is* a stupid word."

Tony cleared his throat again, and got three more beers out.

"Seriously, Tony, this is our dad's journal.  A little of it is personal history, but most of it is everything he learned about hunting.  Nearly every kind of monster and how to kill it.  Oh, and magic that he found helpful.  We try to avoid witches, but spells are usually the only way to undo something they've started."

Dean waited expectantly for more questions, but Tony looked like he didn't know where to start.  Sam frowned when Dean pushed the journal across, but didn't object again.

Recognizing that this was meaningful to them, Tony said, "Thanks," in appreciation of their faith in him.  "But tell me about Saint Louis first."

Sam started that story.  "A friend of mine from college went home when her brother got arrested for torturing and killing a girl.  But Rebecca swore to me that she was with him at the time the crime was committed.  Dean and I checked out the scene and found some gooey stuff nearby, but nothing else.  The next day some other guy killed his wife, but said he saw someone else there wearing his face.  We found the same melted goo at a nearby sewer hatch and followed it down.  When we saw a whole pile of the stuff we could tell it was discarded skin.  That's when we knew it was a shapeshifter.  Shedding.

"When we split up to look for it, things got out of control.  I'm not even sure I remember how it all happened," he admitted, looking to Dean.

"It grabbed me first," Dean said, "then went to Rebecca's house and used my face to get in the door before knocking her out and shifting into *her* in order to trick *you.*  Right?  God, it was insane.  But Sam and I woke up in the sewer where it had a party proving it could read our thoughts as part of its copying mojo.  When it left to go kill Rebecca, we slipped the knots and went after it.  Got there just in time to save her and leave its dead body looking like me.  The first time it attacked her, a couple of cops had seen my face when they nearly caught it.  So they blamed it all on me and had my dead body to wrap it all up."

Sam added, "No one else knows what really happened except Rebecca.  You can call her, but she'll keep quiet to protect us unless we talk to her first."

"How can I trust someone else you've conned?" Tony asked as objectively as possible.

"Because there's too many.  We can probably give you a hundred names that might admit the real story if you don't tell them you're a cop."

Dean cut in.  "But we don't want to bother them all unless it's necessary.  We're talking traumatized victims and family members here.  Let's just start with whatever incidents are in our file your boss is gonna bring back.  Those are going to look really bad, but give us a chance to prove our story."

"That's fair," Tony agreed.  "I was framed once, actually.  Totally sucked.  And it'll give me something to do while we wait for the autopsy.  For now let's find you some beds and I'll get started reading your monster encyclopedia."

Knowing that Gibbs fully expected Tony to prevent the Winchesters from leaving, he took the couch for himself and led them upstairs to the guestroom.

"There's just the one queen, but I think I can find a sleep bag for the floor if that would be better?"

They waved him off.  "We can share.  A night on a decent mattress is worth a couple elbows in the back."  That started some mild scuffling, but they looked too tired to keep it up.

"Bathroom's straight across the hall.  Don't forget Gibbs was a Marine, so don't leave a mess.  I have no idea if he'll be back before morning.  Goodnight."

Tony walked to the next door into Gibbs' room to borrow something to wear, hoping he might also hear the brothers say something revealing.  But they were quiet after Sam called the bathroom first.

Heading back down to the couch, Tony's body reminded him of all it had suffered recently.  His brain was likewise overloaded, but he turned on the lamp and started reading the journal anyway.  When it sounded like the boys upstairs were finished, Tony made himself climb back up and dig out a spare toothbrush from the stash he knew Gibbs kept in the left-hand drawer.  As he brushed, he thought about the past twelve years of a job he truly loved with the mentor who had become a friend.

Giving that up would be heartbreaking, and he swore to figure out a way to salvage his life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	3. Chapter 3

_**Monday** _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Gibbs came in the door around five in the morning.

"DiNozzo, I've got their files.  Are you still sure about these guys?"

The transition to consciousness left Tony's brain struggling to catch up.  "Yeah?"

"Sam and Dean Winchester, remember?  The two mentally unbalanced serial killers who are sleeping in my house?"

"Hunters."

"What?"

"They call themselves hunters, boss.  They really believe that monsters and ghosts are real and that they save people from them."  Tony rubbed his eyes as he sat up and pointed to John Winchester's journal on the coffee table.  "Either that or they were brainwashed by their dad, but I'm going to hit the phone today and see how much can be corroborated."

"Good.  Start with this bank robbery in Milwaukee."  Gibbs tossed a think pair of file folders in his lap.

"That was the other shapeshifter run-in," said a voice from the stairs.  Gibbs nearly jumped, not having heard a single creak.

"How convenient," Tony said dryly.

"We'll finish this later," Gibbs said threateningly to Dean.  "I'm going to grab a couple hours' rack time before heading back.  You and your brother are going to have an explanation for every line in your files, or this game is over, and we lock you away for the rest of time.  Got it?"

"Not a problem," Dean yawned unconcerned and went back to his room.

Tony shook his head at the young man's failure to buckle in the face of Gibbs' intimidation tactics.  Maybe Dean wasn't sane after all.

"How's Abby doing, boss?"

He deserved the scathing 'duh' look that answered his question.  "They're all sure it was a setup.  I sent them home to sleep, since there's nothing to be done now.  Fornell managed to get control of the investigation and says he's gonna keep me updated."

"Finally some good news," Tony exhaled.  "He'll dig deep enough to satisfy the team."

"Yeah.  Now go back to sleep."  Gibbs headed to the basement first, probably to get another gun to put under his pillow tonight, Tony figured as he drifted back under.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It felt like only a minute later when the sounds from the kitchen and orange sunlight told him it was morning.  Stumbling in, he found Dean opening all the cabinets while eggs were scrambling on the stove.

"There's really no coffee maker," Tony said mournfully.

Dean scowled.  "Why the hell not?"

"He goes by this little diner every morning," he shrugged.

"We can't stay on lock-down for two days without coffee," Dean pointed out.

Gibbs walked in just then.  "One of you can walk to the grocery store and pick up some instant.  It's a couple clicks southeast of here," he smirked as he walked over to examine the eggs.  Apparently they were acceptable, and he started scraping them out onto the plates Tony handed over.

They had all three sat down and started eating in only slightly uncomfortable silence when Sam came in, hair wet from a shower.  He put bread in the toaster and then looked around.

"Where's the fucking coffee?" he asked, glaring at his brother like he expected a prank.

"We were waiting on our errand boy to go get it," Dean smiled.

Sam rolled his eyes and looked at Tony and Gibbs for a real answer.

Tony shrugged and Gibbs' eyes challenged him to make something of it.  Sam scowled and sat down with the toast, turning his plate of eggs into a sandwich.

Having inhaled his food, Gibbs rinsed his plate and left the house.

"Did I just lower his opinion of us?" Sam asked, slightly concerned.

"Probably the opposite," Tony laughed.  "Gibbs wouldn't trust anyone who didn't growl without coffee.  Even has a rule about it.  Twenty-three, I think."

"So it's some kind of psych-out to deprive us?"

"No, really.  He just always goes out for it.  I stayed here for a whole week several years ago, and he went at the crack of dawn even on weekend mornings.  Brought me back a cup, then.  I'm sure he would now if we weren't supposed to be hiding from the neighbors."

"Fine, whatever.  Just point me to the store already."

"First street to the right, south about a mile, take another right on Hickory.  You'll have to go out the back and walk."

"Story of my life, dude," Sam shrugged as he went back upstairs for his shoes.

Dean cleared the table and started washing out the skillet.  "So do you want to get started on going through our police records?"

"Actually it's an FBI file.  You were apparently on their Most Wanted list for a while.  How'd you get off?"

"Convinced the lead agent on our case, and he reported us dead."

Now *that* was impressive, Tony had to admit.  "Can I talk to him first?"

Dean sighed.  "He was killed shortly afterwards."  He seemed genuinely upset about it, so Tony backed off.

"Okay, we'll just start at the beginning."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sam came back loaded down with as many groceries as he could carry, along with a small, simple coffee maker.

"Oh thank God," exclaimed Dean as he immediately started opening the box and setting it up.  Tony agreed.

"What's all this?" he asked as Sam started pulling things out of the bags.  Most of them had a reduced-price sticker on top.

"I didn't want your boss to be put out any more than he's already doing.  Dean eats like a bottomless pit, anyway."

"Says the moose," his brother shot back.  "But I love you, man," he smiled as Sam handed him a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled that you paid the rent with a fake credit card," Tony rolled his eyes.

Sam froze, then looked at Dean incredulously.

"It was the first thing in my file, dude.  I can't pin that one on the ghosts," Dean defended.  "But hey, I got to scare him off of hunting forever when I pitched the salary and benefits package."

Still looking wary, Sam picked up a small apple and ate it while they all eyed the coffee.  When it finally finished the first pot, Dean immediately started another.

They took their mugs into the living room where Tony and Dean had the files spread out and notes started on who to call whenever possible.  It was slow going since every offense required a lengthy story to explain it.

Sam picked up his own folder, and was momentary startled to see that the first entry was the fire in Stanford, for which he was now considered a suspect.  At the time it happened his record was clean, so the FBI must have updated it after they decided he was a disturbed and violent young man.  It hurt, and he wondered what Jess' parents thought of him now that the FBI had apparently interviewed them.  They had only met once before the funeral, but Sam had loved the open approval her dad had shown him.

Dean noticed something in Sam's expression and distracted Tony by pointing to something in his own file and starting the tale.  When Sam noticed, he smiled gratefully before refocusing his attention on the present.

"So it turned out Dr. Mason was innocent," Dean was saying, "but to be fair, no one would have suspected the wimpy kid with a secret crush on the dead girl."

"And Dr. Mason knew it was you who dug up her grave and staked the corpse?"  Tony didn't sound shocked, so Sam guessed they'd already covered Zombies 101.

"Dean made a really bad impression on the guy," Sam remembered out loud.  "Accused him outright of reanimating his daughter's corpse.  We left town after we filled the grave back in, but it's not surprising someone noticed and he blamed the two guys that wouldn't shut up about her death," he shrugged.  "How did that get in here anyway?  We gave him fake names."

"Apparently he was persistent," Tony said.  "Pushed for an investigation and found Dean's fingerprints on the coffin."

"Huh.  I broke my wrist when she attacked us.  We probably didn't wipe it down thoroughly.  You might as well know, however much that file has on us, most of the time we cover our tracks better."  Dean glared at that admission, but Sam shrugged.  If they ever faced a trial, anything more would just be overkill.  The current charges alone would get them life sentences several times over.

"Anyway," Dean went on, "I don't think the wimpy guy is still alive to prove our story."

"Neil something," said Sam.

"Yeah, she was pretty feral at the end and off his leash.  I bet she had already killed him when she came after us."

"You didn't follow up later?" Tony asked in surprise.

"We put her to rest and didn't stick around for the fallout," Dean defended.  "What difference would it have made?"

"There's no case reports for us to file," Sam reminded Tony.

"You could have missed something," he pointed out.

"It's happened once or twice," Sam admitted.  "Usually we always double check whenever we're not sure it's over.  But this particular time there wasn't any doubt that the zombie girl was the only problem."

Dean added, "Ghosts attacking when you disturb their bones is actually a good sign.  it means they've been around causing trouble, and you get confirmation when the spirit finally leaves.  It looks like a freak light show, but then you know it was the right grave."

"So sometimes you dig up the wrong grave?" Tony frowned.

Sam tried to think of an example.  "Some ghosts haunt the place where they died.  If it was a large, old building, any number of people could have died there.  Narrowing it down isn't an exact science."

"Okay, well, that brings us up to escaped custody in Baltimore."  Tony was eager for this one because it could easily be checked out.

"Oh, you should see the tape of the confession I made," Dean smiled.  "The dirty cop threw me against the wall on-camera.  It was awesome."

"Not the right word, Dean.  And hey, between those two jobs was when we met Andy Gallagher.  I don't remember his girlfriend's name, but she can vouch for witnessing some pretty impossible stuff."

His brother nodded and wrote "Tracy in Guthrie, OK" on Tony's notepad.

"Baltimore," Tony reminded.

"Did Diana ever call us back yesterday?" Sam asked.

Dean pulled out his phone to check the log.  "Nope.  Probably just too busy."  He looked at Tony.  "You want me to call her now, or will you feel better going through proper channels?"

Tony looked at the clock and decided it was as good a time as any.  With that sewer scene to process and from what he knew of their case already, the detective would be busy for the rest of the week too.  He got up for Gibbs' home phone and dialed the main Baltimore number from memory.

"Yes, I'd like to speak to Detective Diana Ballard, please."  He stayed on hold for a moment before her voicemail answered.  Hanging up, he redialed.  "I need to speak to the front office of the West precinct, please."  This time he got transferred to a secretary.  "Hi.  I have some information for Detective Ballard about the case she's working on.  Is she available right now?  No, I don't want to leave a voicemail.  Would you personally give her the message when she gets back?  Thanks.  Tell her to call Dean.  She has my number.  Yeah, thanks again.  Bye."

"She should be back from the coroner's soon," he told the Winchesters.

"It's a long story," Sam warned.

"I'm pretty sure she'll make time once I tell her my real name," Tony pointed out grimly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

An hour later they were just getting to Folsom Prison-- which Sam still had nightmares about-- when Dean's phone rang.

"It's her," he confirmed before answering.  "Hey, Diana.  . . . No, sorry, we don't actually have any news for you.  What we *do* have is a skeptical shapeshifter victim.  . . . Oh really?  How'd you know it was him?  . . . Yeah, he's the guy we pulled out alive yesterday.  . . . No, he's still pretty calm since he thinks we're lunatics.  . . . Well you needed convincing too, if I recall, and you got it with your own two eyes.  DiNozzo's getting it all second hand, so it would really help if you'd talk with him.  . . . Yeah, thanks."  He handed the phone to Tony before pulling his brother to the kitchen.

"Detective Ballard.  Thank you for taking the time to talk to me."

"Of course," she said.  "I'm sorry we let you go yesterday.  Maybe things could have turned out different."  Her voice was tired but sincere.  "I've seen the news, of course.  A couple of the officers here who transferred from the South precinct remember you.  They said you were a good guy and must have been drugged or something."

"Thanks, but I wish," Tony choked out.  "That's good to hear, though.  But even if I'd waited for you yesterday, I'd still have been released to go home in time to have no alibi for the museum."  It was frustrating, but Tony didn't think he could have prevented the assassinations even if he had made different choices at the time, and there was no use dwelling on it.  "What would really help me is knowing if I can trust Sam and Dean."

She chuckled at that.  "Yeah, I can understand that dilemma.  We caught Dean red-handed at a crime scene years ago, but we couldn't find a motive or a murder weapon.  He spun us a crazy story about ghosts, and you can guess how well that went over."

"Practically a guilty confession," Tony knew.

"Yep.  Evidence or not, we thought he did it.  Until I got introduced to a real ghost.  Scariest moment of my life, I don't mind admitting.  Appeared and disappeared right in front of me like movie special effects.  When Dean saw the bruises from where she grabbed me, he was really worried for my safety.  Gave up Sam's location and told me he would help.  I spent hours trying to talk myself into just arresting Sam, but I had seen something impossible and was pretty freaked out.  So I told Sam what happened, and he put together the clues that led us to the ghost's body.  It was really there, looking just like her!  And it was covered in dust-- no way the boys could have planted it beforehand.  But the worst part was that her corpse pointed to my partner as the murderer.  I didn't quite believe it until I couldn't get ahold of him, and the station said he was transferring Dean alone.  Sam and I caught up to him just as he was about to shoot Dean in cold blood.  He told me some sob story about how the girl was going to rat him out for selling off some missing heroin from evidence lockup.  Then suddenly her ghost was there, attacking him.  He tried to shoot us all, so I shot him first."

She was quiet for a moment, so Tony waited.  "Worst day of my life.  Even so, I knew then that Sam and Dean were innocent.  So I turned my back before calling in the scene.  That was . . . 2006."

"Thanks for telling me," Tony said quietly.

"I'll deny every word if you repeat it, you know."

"I do.  Can you fill me in on the current case?"

"Yeah.  Weird, impossible shit was happening for weeks, and calling Sam and Dean was my last stab at it.  The case wasn't even mine, but half the department was missing, so we all worked on it.  I didn't have their number, but I did a search for any other recent strange events and hit pay dirt on my fourth call.  Some patrolman in Oregon admitted he could contact them, and they knew what it was as soon as I could finish a run-down of the facts.  I was just as skeptical as you probably are.  I mean, shape-shifting monster?  But all their help panned out.  Heck, you know they found you where we weren't even looking.  All the bodies in the sewer match up on time of death with the disappearances.  Now you're on tv.  I don't know any better theories.  But I'll put my money on the Winchesters being right."

"I'd bet money on them, too," Tony said.  "But I'm not so sure about betting my life."

"What are they telling you?"

"That this shapeshifter's dead body is going to be a perfect copy of me, right down to the DNA.  And they have some very valid points about how my famous face is going to make life hell, even if I do manage to somehow prove myself innocent."

"Well . . . shit."

"Hit by an industrial-size fan," Tony agreed.

"What's their solution?"

"I'm not sure.  Dean seems to want me to join them, actually.  You know, hunting ghosts and all.  Sam thinks I can just become someone else; pick any new job that doesn't get fingerprinted."

"Somehow I doubt either option is very appealing.  How long have you been at NCIS?"

"Since '01.  Definitely not eager to move on."

"I hear you.  But if you're still hoping the Winchesters are gonna be wrong on this, well . . . I'm sure they're as fallible as any of us, but you might want to start working on that Plan B."

"Yeah, that's what I'm starting to think too.  Thanks again."

"Get my cell number from Dean and let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Okay.  Bye."

Tony stared blankly out the window until Sam and Dean came back with a box of day-old, reheated cinnamon rolls.  They were quiet, though, obviously waiting for him.  He didn't know what to say, so he kept eating until they had emptied the box.  Tony left the room to get some juice from the fridge, but came right back.

"Let's finish this," he said, pointing to the files.

"Sure, man," agreed Dean.

Sam was extremely curious how the call with Detective Ballard had gone, but he held his tongue.  "We were on Folsom Prison, right?"

"Yeah.  One of the guards there had called for Dad, but we said we'd handle it.  He promised to get us out after we stopped the ghost, and he was good for it."  Dean grimaced before continuing, "I didn't realize the FBI would show up just hours after we got ourselves arrested.  Got to spend some quality time with Agent Henriksen.  He wanted to transfer us, so we had to work fast.  The spirit turned out to be a nurse who was killed there.  We made our escape, burned her corpse, and ran for the hills."

"Would this guard still be alive and willing to talk?"

"Should be, as far as we know," Sam said.  "But he'll keep protecting us if you just ask him for the story."

"It's okay, we already covered that part," Dean said.  "Tony's making a whole list we're gonna call tomorrow.  I'll talk to them first and explain the situation before he starts with the questions."

"Sounds good.  How many names do you have so far?  Want me to start tracking down their numbers?"

"Seventeen, but some of them are vague, like Andy's girlfriend whose last name we don't know.  Knock yourself out, dude."

"I'll go get my laptop."

"Um, I don't think Gibbs has Wi-Fi," Tony admitted.

Sam rolled his eyes.  "Maybe one of the neighbors will."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

By five o'clock they had finally finished and moved into the kitchen to start some dinner.  Tony watched with amusement as the soup started with a couple of cans from the store but turned into something else entirely when Sam and Dean added several other ingredients.  Mostly veggies, but also precooked mystery meat and some dried beans.  They swore it would be edible and go great with the enormous, slightly stale bread rolls currently on the counter.

The brothers were both happy to showcase the thrifty side of being a hunter.  Sam was sure it would scare Tony off, while Dean thought it a good example of how their lifestyle wasn't so terrible.  Tony wasn't influenced either way, since his budget always had different priorities than food.  In Peoria, he had practically lived on Ramen alone.

When it all needed was to simmer for a while, there was a general lull.

"Poker?" Dean offered.

"Maybe later," Tony said.  "We've been sitting down too long already."

"How about you show off some of that government training?" Sam challenged.  "Prove you're not a desk jockey."

"Oh, you're on.  What did you have in mind?"

Dean smirked.  "You and Sam try to pin each other down.  Winner gets to be mopped up by me."

Tony eyed the taller man up and down.  "You do know he's fifteen years younger than me?  That's a pretty steep advantage."

"Okay, what handicap would make you feel better, old man?"

Dean laughed as Tony just growled at Sam and led them out to the backyard where a privacy fence would keep the neighbors from getting a glimpse of the newest notorious criminal.  The Winchesters tossed a few weapons they were wearing onto the deck chairs, but Tony left Gibbs' gun tucked into the back of his pants.

"That's gonna hurt like a bitch when Sam rolls you over," Dean pointed out.

"The boss would kill me if I made it that easy for you two to take off," Tony replied.

"Oh, come on, you know we won't."

"Yes, but he'd still walk in at the worst possible moment, see me unarmed and fighting with Sam, then shoot us all."

"Should I come back in a few more minutes?" Gibbs' voice was amused, but tired.  Tony grinned at being proved right.  His boss *would* have seen them the minute he gave up his gun.

"Gibbs!  I was just about to teach these young whipper-snappers a thing or two.  But don't worry, I'll leave a few parts undamaged for you to bruise up later."  He handed the gun over to his boss and winked big enough for Dean to see.

"Fair warning," Sam said as Tony joined him on the grass, "I fight dirty."

"I've taken down more dirty-fighting criminals than you can imagine, padawan."

"I had a Marine for a personal trainer before you started at the police academy," Sam reminded him as they started circling.

"Is that true?" Gibbs asked Dean from where they stood watching on the deck.

"Dad started our PT when I was ten.  Sam was determined to keep up, and he's as stubborn as they come.  Kid could handle the kickback of a shotgun before he was eight."  They exchanged glances to confirm that Dean was serious.

"Well, I've taught DiNozzo a few moves myself.  Twenty bucks says he can hold his own."  Gibbs pulled a bill out of his wallet and laid it on the nearest chair.

Dean grinned.  "Easy money," he said, and added another.

Sam and Tony traded a few offensive swings, watching each other's defenses.  It slowly progressed to more serious attempts.  Tony was a faster dodge, but Sam was used to that with his size.  The chiseled muscular frame Sam kept well-hidden was usually his best asset.  Opponents didn't expect so much strength from a slender build.

Finally they wrestled down to the ground where things got up to lightning-fast speed, but neither prevailed.  Each time one started to get the upper hand, the other twisted out of the hold.  The impasse stretched out for several minutes.

"Rule sixteen, DiNozzo!" Gibbs called out.

"Hey, that's--"  Dean started to protest, but got caught up watching the action shift.

Tony quit scrabbling for a hold long enough to aim a powerful elbow at Sam's nose.  His yell of pain and surprise gave Tony just enough of a window to lock him in a chokehold.  Sam lifted his legs to kick back before thinking twice about it and going limp in surrender.  They could all see that Tony's advantage was temporary, but Sam would have been forced to do real damage in another moment.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Dean, who shrugged.  "Fine, money's yours.  He didn't suck.  But you should've kept your mouth shut."

"Boss," Tony panted.  "I promise not to quote a movie for the rest of the week if you'll take Dean's swagger down a notch or two."

Everyone smiled at that, but for different reasons.

"Not today," Gibbs responded easily.

"Dinner?" Dean offered instead.

As they all got settled inside and were eating at the table, Gibbs filled them in on what he knew so far.  The 'shifter's fingerprints and scars definitely matched Tony's, and the DNA results would be ready the next morning.  The media had gotten the security tapes from most of the places fake-Tony had been in the hours prior to the shooting.  He must have been aiming for locations with cameras, which Sam and Dean now agreed was what they'd witnessed while tailing the guy.  Tony's apartment was being turned upside down by the FBI, and his car was being stripped to the frame.  They weren't searching for evidence, though.

"So what are they hoping to find?" Dean asked.

"Motive," Tony knew.  "I don't know of any connection between me and the victims, but they'll play six degrees of separation until they find something.  In a town this size, we probably shopped at the same places and dated the same girls or something.  The news coverage won't die down until it makes some kind of sense in people's minds.  Unless some other disaster happens first."

"Motive is the strongest angle we have to prove you innocent, DiNozzo," his boss said firmly.

"It will make even less sense to everyone when Tony suddenly has a replicant clone," Dean shook his head.

"Boss, I'm starting to accept that they may be right about my name being ruined," Tony admitted seriously.  "That and my face will always be famous, even if I'm cleared."

"We can get you a new name and plastic surgery," Gibbs argued.  "Maybe even back on my team eventually."

Tony scoffed at that.  "You know that would take more favors than we could ever cash in.  The agency is going to be too embarrassed over what's already happened to ever risk being caught associating with me again."

Gibbs' hands both slammed down hard into the table, startling the Winchesters.  Tony had been expecting it, though.  "We are *not* giving up!"

"I didn't say that," he mumbled, not entirely meaning it.  "But look at this from the director's perspective.  My presence would always be a potential scandal in waiting.  Vance would never in a million years sign off on that, and you know Jenny or Morrow wouldn't have either."

There was a tense silence as the two NCIS agents looked at each other.

"So what do you want now?" Gibbs asked, his frustration still showing.

"I really don't know.  But in the meantime, just keep trying to clear me.  This isn't the way I want to get into the history books--  Oh my God!  Have you heard anything from my father?"

"He hasn't called me, but Fornell said someone is monitoring all calls to your phone.  I can get him to hand over the logs."

"I've got to talk to him!  If he's out of the country, he won't be watching the news.  At his age the shock could cause a heart attack!"

Sam and Dean were shaking their heads, but let Gibbs speak first.  "Let me call him myself.  You know rule four.  Do you really think he'd keep quiet if he knew the truth?"

Tony sank back into his chair in defeat.  "Heh, he'd want to use his connections to make something happen, and all he'd get for it would be burned bridges."

"NCIS has stations overseas, don't they?" Sam asked tentatively after a moment.  "If you got a new identity, would your director let you work out of the country?"

"My team is my family," Tony explained.  "The job isn't worth fighting for without them."

Gibbs reached over and put a hand on Tony's shoulder, squeezing tight but remaining quiet.

"We understand family," Dean agreed.

They finished eating silently.  Tony pushed everyone out while he did the dishes alone, needing something to keep his hands busy.  The brothers went back outside to exercise, and Gibbs was surely down in the basement.  The quiet helped him think, but it was still hard to push past his denial long enough to get anywhere productive in making a decision.

Tony hated this.  Everything about the situation was totally a mess.  He was furious at the creature who started it.  Worried for his father and friends who thought him dead.  Lost at the idea of never seeing them again.  Frustrated at watching Gibbs be put in an impotent position.  Grateful for Sam and Dean, but also angry at them for no good reason.  He knew he was just looking for a target to lash out at.

His grip tightened dangerously on the glass in his hand.  When he realized it, Tony carefully put it away before stomping down the stairs.

"Give me something to rip apart, boss," he pleaded.

Gibbs looked up, and Tony was halted by the way his friend was sitting.  Completely still, staring off into space.  No project in front of him.  It was so unlike Gibbs that Tony's own mood deflated a little in concern.

The older man shook himself out of the daze, then got up to dig out the bourbon.  When a couple mason jars were emptied, he poured them both a generous amount.

"Are you going to go with the Winchesters?"

It wasn't what Tony expected, so it took too long to answer.  "I don't know.  It's crossed my mind."

"Tell me about them."  Tony knew it was no small thing for Gibbs to be trusting Tony's own judgment on the two potentially insane or sadistic criminals.

"Hard to know where to start.  I think what surprises me the most is how their job is so similar to ours.  Finding bad guys and stopping them, you know?  The specifics are a different ballgame, of course, but the process of tracking scumbags down is the same.  Follow the clues, et cetera.  But, whatever.  I know that's not what you meant.  Yes, I think they're trustworthy.  Had they grown up normally, I bet they would have made great agents."

Gibbs' eyes widened in surprise at the high praise.

"They told me about everything in their files and a few things that aren't.  The list of people I'm gonna call tomorrow is two pages long.  That detective in Baltimore talked to me, told me how they met and why she called them last week.  She impressed me, and she was impressed with Sam and Dean.  So . . . even though I'm not one hundred percent sure of them yet, I think that I will be by this time tomorrow.  Pending rule three."

"Are any of the charges true?"

"Well it turns out that being a freelance monster hunter doesn't pay peanuts.  The credit fraud is real.  I know, I was surprised Dean admitted that, too."  Tony searched for his next words.  "The grave desecrations are valid.  I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea of ghosts and demons and creatures from the black lagoon.  But they believe it.  According to them, burning a corpse is the easiest way to force a spirit to move on from this world.  I do know they're not doing it for kicks or anything sick."

Gibbs took a long hit off his drink before meeting Tony's eyes briefly.  It was merely a whisper when he spoke.  "I've seen Shannon a couple times."

Tony was floored.  "Wow.  I mean . . . that's just . . . wow."

"Mmm-hmm," agreed Gibbs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Dean, leave them alone.  They're just trying to deal with things."

"I'm not gonna get in their way, jeeze.  Just say goodnight.  They've been down there for hours."

"I don't think that's necessary."

"Like you know the etiquette for playing houseguest?"

"Fine, you go crash their party.  I'm staying out of the way.  And don't turn on the lights when you come up."

"Whatever, sleeping beauty."

Dean followed the voices down to the basement, where Tony and Gibbs were obviously drunk and reminiscing.  Barefoot and freshly showered, he stopped on the bottom step and cleared his throat.  "Just wanted to say goodnight," he waved and turned to go.

"Wait, wait, wait," Tony laughed.  "You gotta tell me if hunting comes with new rules."

Gibbs snickered.

"Uh, yeah, there's lots of stuff to learn," said Dean cautiously.

"No, I mean like rule nine.  I bet that one's the same."  Tony was cracking himself up.

"What's rule nine?"

They both answered in unison.  "Never go anywhere without a knife."  Smiling like it was something brilliant, Tony looked expectantly at Dean.

"Yeah, that sounds smart.  Look, we can teach you how to hunt when you're sober.  In fact, that's probably our first rule.  But right now you couldn't pull a knife if it was right in--"

The *thunk* in the railing beside him interrupted.  Dean looked incredulously at Tony, who was still grinning like a loon.

"You could have hit me, you idiot!"

"Nah, I'm not drunk.  Just high on life," he giggled.  Gibbs laughed loudly at that.  "See, I'm still on my second glass," he said, holding it up.  "But Jethro's on five or six, I think."

"Jethro?  That's your first name?" Dean smiled.

"Oh no.  His first name is worse," Tony said seriously, getting head-slapped for his trouble.

"So I guess you decided to strap the office protocol," Dean observed of the contact, still confused.

"Easier said than done," Tony sighed."But yeah, I get that it's all over now."  Gibbs frowned and took another drink, but didn't say anything.

Dean pulled Tony's knife free and held it out.  "You really will be a great hunter, if that's what you decide.  Sam thinks so too, you know.  He just wants you to have a choice.  It's an open-ended offer."

"Thanks," said Tony as he walked over and took back the knife.  "I really do appreciate it.  And I'm thinking about it."

"Rule five, Tony," Gibbs spoke up.  He sounded like it was important.

Tony laughed it off, though.  "What, you don't think I'd be great as a car salesman or movie theater operator?  Or I could go to Hollywood!  Wear a hat and dark glasses at all times, and no one will think twice.  I bet I'd fit right in with southern L.A."

"I worked on a movie set as a P.A. one time," Dean quipped.

"Seriously?  Was there a monster at the monster movie?  Or a haunted house on a real set?  That'd be too awesome.  You're just messing with me."

"Some ghosts were summoned by a spell the actress read in Hell Hazers II."

"No way!" Tony practically screamed.  "There were rumors about that, but I thought it was just for publicity."

"That's rule number eight, Tony.  You already forgetting everything I taught you?"

Gibbs' tone was teasing, but Tony's face fell.  "Of course not, boss."  He struggled for the right words, and the moment stretched out too far.  "I could never . . . ."

"No chick-flick moments is my rule number two," said Dean on his way back upstairs.  "See you in the morning," he called.

"I like that," Gibbs said thoughtfully.

"What number are you up to?"

"Fifty-seven."

"Since when?  What was fifty-six?"

"Made it just this morning.  Never dismiss the impossible."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	4. Chapter 4

_**Tuesday** _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Everyone was quiet the next morning.  Gibbs didn't even comment on the new coffee maker.  Tony knew he'd throw it out after the Winchesters left, but he was grateful for it while it lasted.

"DNA results should be in around noon," his boss said on his way out.  "I'll call you."  Tony stood staring at the door after it closed, lost momentarily in thought.

Sam cleared his throat and waited for Tony's attention.  "I have phone numbers for almost half the people on the list.  The rest would need access to government databases to narrow down, but I figure Gibbs can handle that if you want."

"Yeah," Tony agreed, moving them into the living room.  "Might as well get started.  Who's first?

"Haley Collins in Grand Junction, Colorado.  Her brother was abducted on a campout by a wendigo.  It's a strong, fast, immortal monster that used to be a plain old human cannibal.  Oh, um, that doesn't sound very scary, so just ask Haley for the civilian perspective," Sam suggested.

"Aren't you two civilians?" Tony pointed out.

"That's what hunters call you normal folk who don't know about the things that go bump in the night," Dean grinned.

"She'll probably remember you better," Sam told his brother, handing him the sheet with her number on it.

Pulling out his phone and dialing, Dean looked a little nervous.  "Never done this before," he explained to Tony while it rang.  "Hi.  I'm calling for Haley?  Oh . . . uh, can I talk to your mommy?  Yeah, can you give her the phone?  Thanks."  Dean rolled his eyes at his amused audience.

"Hi, Haley?  This is Dean, from--  Do you remember a few years ago when Tommy went missing on a camping trip?  Me and my brother went after him with you . . . .  Yeah, the guys who lied about being Park Rangers.  Sorry about that.  Listen, I hate to bring up a painful memory, but I kind of need your help.  . . . Thanks.  See, I've got this new friend who I'm trying to protect from another monster, only he doesn't believe me that the thing's even real.  I was hoping if he talked to someone else who knows I'm not crazy . . . .  Yeah, that'd be perfect.  Here he is."

Tony took the phone, not sure which way he was hoping this would go.  "Hello?  Haley, right?  I'm Tony."

"Hi, Tony.  So I hear you have a monster problem."

"So I hear you think they're real," he returned seriously.

"Well, when one tries to eat your big brother, it's hard not to.  The thing killed three other people I knew and chased all of us around in this mine before Sam killed it.  With a flare gun, of all things."

"Did you actually see it with your own eyes?"

"Oh, yeah.  It was dark, but not dark enough.  It looked human mostly, but it was too fast.  Like . . . Clark Kent kind of fast."

"So you're *sure* it wasn't human?"

"Absolutely.  To tell you truth, I still have nightmares about it sometimes."

"And Sam and Dean?  Would you trust them again?"

"They seemed sort of suspicious to me from the start, but everything made sense later.  I wish I had listened to them more.  They knew what was really going on when I was just making it worse.  Look, I don't really know them well, and I wouldn't let them babysit my kid or anything, but I would trust them to keep my family safe again.  If they say something's after you, then you should believe it."

"Okay.  Thanks, Haley."

"You're welcome.  Can I say bye to Dean?"  Tony gave the phone back.

"Thanks for that," Dean told her.  Whatever she replied, it took a minute before he said, "You're welcome."  Smiling, he added, "Now go teach your munchkin not to answer the phone or talk to strangers.  . . . Yeah, see ya."

"One down, couple dozen to go," Sam grinned.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Sam's phone rang a few hours later, he glanced at the caller and handed it straight to Tony.  Taking a deep breath, he answered, "DiNozzo."

"It matches," Gibbs said flatly.

"Damn," he sighed.

"They clear?"

"Huh?  Oh.  Yeah."

It was silent for a few beats.

"I'll bring pizza for dinner."

Strangely, that was when Tony started to feel choked up.  "Thanks," he said.  The extra second before Gibbs hung up was a show of support that was appreciated.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The day passed slowly.  By 4:30, Tony was worn out from talking to people who had lost loved ones but thought the Winchesters hung the moon.

"Come on," Dean said when they had finished with the last number.  He led them to the backyard, and this time they both stripped off their weapons.  "You need to blow off some steam," was all Dean said as they walked to the grass.

Tony didn't hesitate, just immediately threw a no-holds-barred punch at Dean's jaw.  It ended up deflected, but just barely.  Letting all his frustration out, Tony didn't keep anything back as he went after Dean, landing an occasional blow.  The hunger didn't seem to mind, but he made Tony work hard for it.  There was plenty of anger eager to be channeled into violence, thinking about how his old life wasn't coming back.  How all those other people's families got hurt.  How all this time, the criminals he worked to put away were small potatoes next to the things in the Winchesters experienced.  How mad he was at his own impotence to change the past week.

He didn't know how long it went on, but they were drenched in sweat and the sun had dipped below the top of the fence when Dean held up a timeout signal.  "Is that pizza I smell?"

Gibbs had arrived, and Sam was already eating a slice from where he sat watching.  Tony walked over to take the box Gibbs held out.

"Giovanni gave me yours for free.  Said he'd never believe you were guilty, and that it was nice of the team to keep ordering your favorite."

Tony blinked.  "Wow," was all he could answer.

Gibbs went back inside and returned with four beers.  He smiled at seeing both Tony and Dean still standing, cramming slices down like it was a contest.  Sitting in the chair beside Sam, he said, "Are you sure you can handle them both?"

Looking up to see what Gibbs meant, Sam laughed ruefully.  "Oh, God.  They really are two peas in a pod."  Then he sobered.  "We haven't actually discussed it yet," he raised his voice for the others to hear, "but Tony *is* welcome to come with us if that's what he wants.  At least until he figures out something he'd rather do."

"Where are you going next?" Gibbs asked.

"Tomorrow we'll hit the news websites and obituaries, looking for anything that stands out as unnatural.  Whatever's closest or most urgent is how we usually decide."

"You can tell from the paper what kind of creature will be there?"  Gibbs sounded more curious than skeptical, having shelved his own doubts for Tony's sake.

"I wish," Sam scoffed.  "When we get to town we talk to any witnesses, get a look at the dead body or property damage, go see the crime scene, stuff like that.  Probably a lot of what you do, only with more time in the library."

"What's in the library?" asked Tony around his mouthful.

"It's brutal, man."  Dean grimaced.  "Gotta dig through decades of records and archives to find patterns.  Helps us determine what we're dealing with.  How far it goes back."

Tony looked back over and saw a new expression on Gibbs' face.  "What are you thinking, boss?"

Turning to Sam, the older man said, "Take us with you on your next hunt."

"What?!"  Sam looked at Dean, expecting him to object, but his brother considered it for two seconds and just shrugged.  "Dean, you know how dangerous that is."

"I think they can handle it.  And if it turns out to be something big, they can stay out of the way and wait for a simpler one."

"Boss, are you sure?" Tony stammered out.

"Only way I'll ever believe it is with my own two eyes.  And I'm sure not gonna let you go off with them until I can trust them to take care of you."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Tony objected, offended.  "I can take care of myself, you know."

"I can't just *stop* watching your back, DiNozzo," Gibbs barked, covering the sentimental value with gruffness.

Dean spoke up.  "You two have to swear to follow our lead," he warned.

"Rule thirty-eight," Gibbs agreed easily.  "You're the experts here."

"That reminds me, Sammy.  We gotta write down all the things Dad taught us about hunting and number them for Tony."

"What?"

"But then I might get them confused," Tony grinned.  "Let's make yours alphabetical instead."  That got a chuckle out of everyone.

"One nerd on a hunt is plenty," said Dean.  "You can alphabetize your own crap, dude.  Leave me out of it."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Dean threatened him with a glare and a finger pointed his way.  Deciding it the jibe wasn't worth the retaliation, Sam shrugged.

"First rule is always stay sober while hunting.  Not the first thing Dad taught us, but it came with the strongest punishment," Dean grinned at Sam.

"Which took you what, *three* times to learn?" his brother teased.

"Beat sitting around watching you study all the time, princess.  Anyway, second rule is no chick flick moments, of course.  Third . . . don't disappear."

"Dean, come on."

"I mean it, Sam!  Bad things always happen when one of us gets cornered alone."

"We need space, Dean."

"I didn't say joined at the hip!"

Tony cut in.  "Shame you never learned Gibbs' rule three: never be unreachable."

"Huh," said Dean.  "That's good.  We'll take it."

"Guess we old dogs are gonna teach you young pups some new tricks after all," Tony grinned.  "Starting with not leaving your fingerprints at crime scenes."

Gibbs reached over and mimed a headslap for Sam that didn't actually make contact.  "Always, always wear gloves," he lectured.

Sam's jaw dropped at seeing this side of Gibbs' personality, while the other two snickered.

"Yes, sir," Dean accepted the advice.  "Don't worry, Sam.  I'll find you some pink ones."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Won't the team be worried about you if you're not pulling twenty-hour days right now?" Tony wondered later when he and Gibbs were down in the basement again.

"They think I'm hovering over Fornell's shoulder right now."

"Won't Fornell think it's strange that you're not?"

"I told him I was too busy drying Abby's tears."

"Aww, that's just cold, boss."

"Maybe, but it gets me left alone for now."

Tony shuffled into a more comfortable perch on the counter.  He had showered and was back in borrowed clothes.

"When do you think you can sneak some of my stuff out?"

"Months, on a case this big.  Could be years."

"I was afraid of that.  Just . . . get my personal stuff . . . eventually."

"Does that include all ten thousand of your DVDs?" Gibbs smiled.

"Actually, there's not much I'm really gonna want.  A few pictures.  Oh hey, is there a funeral?"

"Ziva said she'd handle it.  It's Thursday, I think."

"Could you take a picture of the team?  Put a copy on the coffin or something, but print another for me?"

"Yeah, we can do that.  Not sure anyone will be able to smile.  They're pretty torn up."

"I hate not telling them the truth."

"Only way to keep the secret."

"Rule six, I know.  Still hate it."

"Yeah.  Maybe someday?"

"When they've already dealt with it and moved on?  No, that'd be even harder on them.  And I don't think they'd ever forgive *you*."

The silence they fell into was comfortable, the clock ticking peacefully.  It had taken the two of them a long time to get to this place in their friendship, and Tony tried to enjoy the time together now, knowing it was on the clock.

"So what did you find out today?" Gibbs eventually asked.

"That Sam and Dean didn't know they had such a big fan club."

"Really?  They don't seem all that shy."

"Apparently rule nineteen is already on their radar.  Most of the time they don't stick around long enough to get blamed for the monster's kills.  Or to let the people they saved say thank you."

"Then what do they get out of it?"

"I don't know.  Their dad was in it for revenge.  I think the boys just feel obligated, maybe.  There's a lot of personal stuff they don't want to talk about."

"But you trust them."  It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, I do.  But thanks for volunteering to come along on a test drive."

"Been a long time since we were rookies."  They exchanged smiles.

"Did you know their shotguns are loaded with salt?" Tony said.

"Now see, that right there is why I'm coming along to watch your six."

"It's crazy, I agree.  But I talked to a few people today who said the Winchesters poured salt on the floor in a circle around them.  That's even funnier than salt ammo, but no one was laughing.  And God help me, I still believe them.  All these years of learning to read people, and I get sucked in by one of the FBI's *dead* most-wanted." he shook his head.

"Don't stop trusting your gut now, DiNozzo.  Besides, they've suckered me too."

"I thought you only trusted them because I did."

"I didn't trust them, I trusted *you*.  But they're growing on me."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_**Wednesday** _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tony woke up in the master bedroom.  It wasn't a sight he was familiar with, and it took him a moment to remember he was at Gibbs' house.  And why.

The clock on the nightstand said 8:36, and he was surprised no one had bothered to wake him up yet.  He frowned and headed down to the kitchen.  Sam was sitting at the table with his laptop, a plate with a banana peel left beside it.

"Dean put some pancakes in the fridge for you."

"Thanks.  Is he not here?"

"Walked back to the store to buy you some hair dye."

"Oh."

"Sorry, man," Sam winced.

"It's okay," Tony said, trying to convince himself.  "I know it's necessary."

Sam watched as Tony poured himself some coffee and reheated the pancakes.

"You know, me and Dean lie about who we are every day.  It gets easier after a while."

"That won't be a problem.  I have a lot of experience undercover.  One of those jobs lasted nearly a year.  Being someone else, I can handle."

"You look like you're eating lemons," Sam disagreed.

"Just realizing there's no eleventh-hour rescue here.  My old life is really . . . my *old* life."

Sam left him alone after that.

Dean came back when Tony was almost finished cleaning up.  He tossed over a bag that felt surprisingly heavy.  "What's all this?"

"Who knew hair color was so complicated?  I got some chick there to tell me what we need.  First you're gonna try bleach blonde.  There's a separate box for your hair and your beard.  She said either was fine for your eyebrows.  I tossed in some black dye too, if that doesn't look different enough.  There's also special shampoo for making the color last longer, and something called dry shampoo because you're not supposed to wash it every day."

"Ugh.  I hope it all came with instructions."

"Oh, and she said to double up on the gloves."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I dunno."

"You wear them to protect your hands," Sam said absently without looking away from his screen.  "They come in the box."

"Sammy, you are such a girl."

"When you live in a co-ed dorm, you learn a few things."

"Great.  So you can buy your own tampons when your period starts."

"Bite me, jerk."

"Bitch."

Tony smiled in spite of his grumpy mood.  "Sorry, Sam, but I think you're the only one qualified to help me out with this."

"What?  No way.  It can't be that hard.  Just read the directions."

"But what if I miss a big spot on the back of my head?" Tony pouted.

Dean smirked.  "You have a little brother, I take it?"

"I didn't growing up, but I have for the past eight years.  He's a geek, too."

"Older siblings?"

"Not unless you count Gibbs.  But we can compete for who had the saddest childhood later.  Sam, I really would appreciate your help.  And I'll promise not to tease you about it?"

He shook his head, though.  "Not good enough."

"Okay, how about I take your side next time Dean's a jerk?"

"Hey!"

"For a week," Sam countered.

"Deal," said Tony.  He tossed the bag to Sam, who started pulling out the boxes to read the directions.

"Cheater," Dean complained, but with a smile.

The actual process turned out to be quite comical.  When the dye started dripping everywhere, Sam barked frantically at Dean to quickly wipe it up.  He ended up standing guard with a roll of paper towels until they were done.  Tony had to strip his borrowed pants off without moving his head.  Dean refused to help when Sam wanted his removed from the scene, and all three of them knew their shirts were gonners.  Finally Tony pulled his shirt up around his neck to catch any remaining drips and went up stairs to take a shower.  Both Winchesters laughed at him walking around in just socks and tighty-whities until he reminded them it was borrowed from Gibbs, who would truly love to hear about their opinion of his underwear choices.

When he came back down, they were running a load of laundry, and all the windows were opened.

"How do I look?" he asked.

They eyed him critically.  "Pretty different," said Sam.

Dean added, "It'll be fine once your hair grows out.  Spike it up or something now.  We'll pick you up some reading glasses, too."

Knowing where Gibbs kept an extra pair in the basement, Tony retrieved them before looking in the mirror again.  He barely recognized himself.  Still, it would be good to get away from the northeast soon, just to be safe from bumping into an acquaintance.  It occurred to him then that a few accessories like one of Abby's dog collars would be effective, maybe some tattoos.

"Let's hit a Goth store on our way out of town," he suggested as he came back into the kitchen.

"That sounds good," said Sam.  Dean was standing over his shoulder, reading something on the laptop.

"Find something?"

"Maybe," was all Dean offered.  "Our parameters are narrower than usual.  Don't want to waste Gibbs' time or go after something too heavy."

"Your lead," Tony deferred instead of arguing that he could handle it.

Dean looked at his watch.  "Wanna go do a little target practice?"

Tony raised one eyebrow.  "My scores on the range are fantastic."

"What weapons?"

"Mostly my Sig.  Rifles too, sometimes."

"Ever used a shotgun?"

He had to shake his head.  "Everything but that," he admitted.

"Let's go, then."

Sam stayed behind, and Tony directed Dean to a secluded spot not far outside the city.  It had been a crime scene a few years ago, so he knew there weren't any neighbors to hear the noise.  Riding shotgun even with his new hair and borrowed sunglasses made Tony uneasy, so when they stopped he was more than ready to blow something away, even if it was just cans on a fence.

It took less than an hour for Tony to prove his aim to Dean.

On the way back they stopped at a gas station.  Tony had to wait in the car, but he got a new disposable cell phone for his patience.  He knew he couldn't give the number to anyone besides Gibbs, Dean, and Sam, but it was good to feel even that much connected to the world again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They ate lunch in front of the tv at Gibbs' house.  Painful as it was, Tony wanted to find out what the media was saying about him, and Sam and Dean thought it was good intel for determining how best to disguise their future hunting partner.  Most of the content was still speculation, but now they had clips of interviews with neighbors and old friends repeating what a shock it was because Tony was such a great guy.  Those were uncomfortable to watch.

After a while, Sam pointed out, "They keep calling you Anthony.  Maybe you can keep going by Tony."

"Not yet," Dean said.  "But yeah, after your hair's grown out."

"So I just pick another name out of a hat?" said Tony distastefully.

"Toby?  Tommy?  Something easy to keep for a couple months."

"This is crazy.  Insane," he laughed.  Maybe he was finally going to have that breakdown.

Sam clapped a supportive hand on his shoulder before leaving the room.  They could hear his laptop booting up in the kitchen.  Probably going back to looking for something to hunt.  With Tony and Gibbs.  They were actually going to find some dangerous monster that a whole squad of Marines wouldn't be able to dent, and eagerly take it on by themselves.  Which usually meant just the two of them.  It was crazier than insane.

At the next commercial break, Dean cleared his throat.  "You do have other options, man."

"None of them are any better," Tony admitted.

"All of them are safer."

"That might be even weirder.  I've been a cop for too long."

"What were you gonna do when you retired?"

Tony shook his head.  "Never thought about it seriously.  Figured that was too far down the road.  I'd have rather been the oldest active NCIS agent of all time, maybe training the probies.  As risky as it's been on the front line team, the odds were against living to retirement anyway.  Didn't see the point in making plans for nothing."

They watched Wolf Blitzer for a long time.  The most popular theory heard from the various 'experts' was that Anthony DiNozzo was getting revenge for some past transgression committed by one of the victims, the others being merely in the way.

"That's our best guess too," Dean spoke up at one point.

"Huh?"

"Sam and I are pretty sure the 'shifter was going after the guy who killed the one in Baltimore.  Since it was so gung-ho on solving that case, remember?  Guess it was a family member or something.  It must have finally figured it out with your access to national databases or files or whatever.  Held one of the vics responsible; the rest were probably just for kicks or to cause more chaos for its escape.  Who knows.  But we think revenge was the reason."

"That makes sense," he agreed.  "I wonder if the FBI will find something incriminating on my computer," Tony wondered glumly.

Dean looked awkward for a moment, like he didn't know what to say.  It broke when he announced it was past time for an afternoon snack.  He and Sam made a mild racket in the kitchen for a few minutes before one of them sat a plate in his lap.

Tony ate absently, trapped by the nightmare on tv.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nothing changed before Gibbs came in around seven with Chinese.  He had texted Sam beforehand about working late, but Dean took the phone outside and called back to say that Tony was on the edge of a serious freak-out.  Plans were changed accordingly.

When the tv suddenly shut off, Tony looked up and saw his boss thrusting a box and chopsticks in his face.  He opened his mouth to say "not hungry" before remembering it was pointless to argue with Gibbs.  And then he remembered Gibbs wasn't his boss anymore.

Tony started eating quickly, hoping to swallow the lump in his throat before it formed.

Gibbs just sat on the other end of the couch and ate his own, which made Tony feel so fond and grateful that the struggle got worse, and his eyes watered despite his best efforts.  But they both ignored it and kept eating.

"Beer," Tony explained as he left for the kitchen.  Sam and Dean weren't around, and Tony realized how late it was and how out-of-it he'd been.  There weren't any extra boxes of takeout on the counter, so they must have--

And then he saw it.

On top of a small stack of files beside the empty plastic sack from China Cho's was an 8x10 of their team.

Abby's biggest smile demanded attention first, but her eyes were shockingly unfamiliar without black liner or mascara.  Red, like she'd been crying instead of sleeping for the past three days.  Tony's watered in sympathy.

Ducky, beside her, wore a solemn expression.  He knew how to handle loss, but Tony still wished he could spare the older man from this pain.

Jimmy and McGee in the middle, both with the kind of forced smiles worn by young kids in school portraits.  Tony ached with the words he'd never get to say to them.  Both men were the first friends he'd ever had that weren't from the jocks' table.  They had so little in common with him outside of work that Tony still couldn't understand how he had come to feel such deep affection for either young man.  But he did, and they would never know how much they had made him a better person for breaking down his stereotypes.

Ziva smiled like Mona Lisa.  Mysteriously, like their instinctive flirting had always been.  He never knew how serious she took it.  His heart hurt for her, knowing the pain she must be enduring privately because another friend had died.  But it made him crack a smile to think they'd both always wonder what could have happened without rule twelve.

Gibbs was on the end, with a face so calm that Tony's knees nearly buckled at the sudden insight.  The team was going to be okay and get through this, because *Gibbs was going to be okay.*  If it hadn't been for Sam and Dean rescuing Tony from that sewer before he died without water, Gibbs would have run himself into the ground trying to find out why Tony became an insane killer overnight.  It would have crushed him, Tony realized.  And the other five people in the photograph would have never recovered from losing them both.

He and Gibbs weren't best buddies the way Tony had measured friendships in the past.  But they were closer in the ways that mattered.  Tony had never admired anyone so much, and he was only too aware that no one else had ever had so much faith in him.  Somewhere in the past decade, the separation of personal from professional had gotten blurred, and now they were each other's best friend.  Possibly because of the tragic loss of too many others, but still true.

Tony owed the Winchesters for a lot more than his own life.

Finally his tears started to subside as a moment of acceptance broke through the storm he'd been brewing all afternoon.  Relief, determination, purpose.  Emotions were taking over again, but these were ones he could handle.

Wiping his eyes to be sure they'd stayed dry, Tony remembered the beers and took them back to the living room, carefully holding the team picture in his other hand.

Gibbs noticed it immediately.  "I hope that's--"

"Thank you," Tony interrupted.  He knew arranging it would have made Gibbs uncomfortable.  "It's perfect.  Totally, completely perfect."

Gibbs looked at him a little sharper to gauge how genuine Tony's changed mood was.  When he was satisfied, they finished eating quietly.

Tony might have been feeling better, but the frown Gibbs still wore clearly wasn't just from worry.  After the drinks were finished and neither had spoken, Tony turned to face his friend and wait patiently.  Gibbs wouldn't talk until he was ready.

The light outside faded the rest of the way, and eventually Gibbs turned to reach for the lamp.  Minutes ticked by, and Tony was starting to get anxious about what bad news his boss was avoiding.

"Tomorrow," Gibbs finally said before clearing his throat to restart.  "Tomorrow I have to go to your funeral."

Tony had forgotten that.  He didn't know what to say.

"That's . . . pretty weird," he managed.

"You think?" Gibbs smiled slightly.

Then Tony frowned.  "Will the media be there?"

"It's in Autopsy."

"What?!"

"Ziva got into a fight with a reporter yesterday morning.  Broke the guy's nose; his camera was damaged.  Vance gave her a slap on the wrist, but she decided to keep things in-house."

"I guess that's good.  Is she gonna . . . be all right?"

"She'll get by."  Gibbs made it a promise.  "There's at least a dozen others that are coming.  They think you were brainwashed or something, who knows.  But they want to be there.  Vance included, now that it's private."

"Wow."

"Should be very informal, but Abby said you would want me to wear a tie."

"Only if it got you to first walk into a designer store," Tony smiled.  "You know, she may figure out that you're handling this too well."

"You're about to take off.  And be a damn ghost hunter.  I'm *not* handling this well."

"That's sweet, boss" Tony teased.

"I'm not your boss anymore, Blondie."

"Oh yeah.  I almost forgot about this."  Tony ran a hand through his hair.

"Lucky you don't have to look at it much."

"Ha, ha.  By the way, we ruined one of your shirts and towels.  Sorry about that.  None of us knew what we were doing."

"The boys help you with that?"

"I'm sworn to silence.  And before I forget, thanks for giving me the bed last night."

"I've slept on that couch enough to know you needed a break."

"Well, I'm good for a few more days now.  Where are Sam and Dean anyway?"

"Grabbed their food and drove off.  Said they'd be back before morning."

"Oh.  Probably out hustling pool.  I think that's where their cash comes from."

Gibbs frowned.  "You're sure you wanna be a ghostbuster?"

"What can I say?  I loved that movie.  Still have a soft spot for Dan Aykroyd."

"We can figure something else out."

"Dean made me that same offer a few hours ago.  They're good guys."

"Yeah.  I looked up John Winchester today and called a couple guys in his unit.  They still remembered this kid from Kansas who was stubborn as hell about learning how to do everything the right way.  Real American hero, way they told it.  Doesn't mean John didn't go crazy later, but at least he didn't start out that way."

"Do you know what happened to their mom?"

"File just says it was a house fire."

"I guess we'll find out soon enough whether their stories are real."

"Did they find something to hunt yet?"

"Sam said maybe, but that was early this morning."

"You watched those idiots on tv all day?"

"After shooting shotguns with Dean."

"Where?"

"Middle of nowhere.  Haven't told them yet that you were a sniper.  Bet they'll love it," Tony grinned.

"500 yards sounds like the best distance from anything that wants to take a bite out of me."

"Shit."  He shook his head again at the surreal situation.  "I need a drink.  Basement?"

"Best thought you've had all day."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thursday** _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For the first time, Tony was unsurprised to not be in his apartment when he woke up on Gibbs' couch at 6:30.  He went straight to the kitchen, hoping to catch Gibbs before he left.  Finding a new guest sitting at the table beside his boss startled Tony wide awake, and he whirled around before they could see his face.

"DiNozzo!" yelled Gibbs before he took two steps.

Tony turned in surprise.  So much for keeping him a secret.

"It's just Winchester," Gibbs said exasperated.  "Playing dress up."

Looking at Dean roll his eyes, Tony relaxed.  "No heart attacks before coffee, please.  What are you doing in a suit?"

"Sam found a hunt nearby.  I'm interviewing witnesses."

Tony went to grab a mug and pour himself some caffeine, so he didn't see the looks exchanged between the two men behind his back.  "Sam going with you?"

"No, I can handle it.  Should be done after lunch.  Hey, don't watch that crap on tv today.  Get Sam to spar or teach you an exorcism or something."

Tony blinked.  "Is it like the movie?"

"Keep dreaming.  It's a page of Latin to memorize, but that's the easy part.  Getting a demon to hold still long enough to hear it, that's the trick."

"Can't wait," he muttered.  They were finishing bowls of cereal, so Tony grabbed an orange out of the fridge and started peeling it.  The milk was almost out.

Gibbs got up, rinsed his bowl, and started gathering his keys.  Catching his eye, Tony asked, "You good?"  He didn't really know how to offer sympathy to a friend on his way to a fake funeral full of other friends who thought it was real.

He got a small but sincere smile and a nod.  He guessed that would have to do.

"Later, dude," said Dean.

Tony waved with his free hand, observing that Dean really did look capable of passing for an FBI agent.

"What name is on your badge?" he wondered.

Dean flashed it easily, like he did it every day.  "Ray Davies."  At Tony's blank look, he added, "From the Kinks."

"Oh.  Well, watch out for Lola."

Opening the door to the garage, Dean flipped him off.  The Impala and Gibbs' Charger left at the same time.

Tony brooded on his funeral while he finished the orange and started some toast.  Sam came in and got coffee.  When Tony finished his slices, he offered to make more.

"Thanks," Sam declined, "but I'm gonna go for a run first."

"Yeah?  That sounds good.  Wish I could join you."

"You're a runner?"

"Hey, don't look so surprised.  Five miles three times a week."

Sam scoffed.  "Try twice that."

"Some of us had a clock to punch.  And a scary boss who wanted me in early."

"Wish you could have met our dad," said Sam with an easy smile.  "He was a damn scary drill sergeant that didn't believe in days off from boot camp.  And every day was boot camp."

"Well, I started slacking off after forty.  Sue me.  Besides, chicks don't like guys that make them feel fat," he teased, poking Sam where his non-existent love handles should have been.

"Aren't you too old to call them chicks?"

"Ouch!  Them's fightin' words.  Tell you what, I'll leave all the jail bait to you."

"We'll just let the ladies choose.  I'm sure a few of them will be able to see past your neon-blonde hair."

Tony scowled at realizing how far he'd fallen in more than one way.

"Aww, come on.  I'm sorry."  Sam could see he'd hit a nerve.  "Why don't you throw on a hat and come run with me?  Some sunglasses, and there's no chance you'd be recognized."

"Yeah?  I guess that'd be okay.  No, wait.  I don't have any shoes.  Gibbs' are too small."

"Dean's are a 12.  Will that work?"

"Maybe, if they're broken in."

"Only kind we ever have," laughed Sam.

Tony went upstairs to brush his teeth and dig through Gibbs' drawers for shorts.  Sam tossed him a pair of well-worn Nikes, ragging on Dean for preferring indoor calisthenics over "real exercise."  The shoes were snug, but not bad.

It turned out to be a much longer run than Tony was really up for, but he got caught up in the exhilaration of having something to *do.*  Sam was clearly used to a faster pace, but he didn't seem to mind holding back a little.  Tony kept them to the residential streets, where they saw fewer than a dozen other people total.  Once he stopped worrying about being seen, he put every ounce of concentration into the rhythm of legs and breathing.  For half an hour, the world wasn't crumbled around him.

They returned through the back the same way they had snuck out.  He helped himself to Gibbs' shower while Sam was in the guests'.  Tony stayed under the hot water till it ran out, lingering with awareness that his muscles would be protesting tomorrow.  When he finally came back down, Sam was in the kitchen on his laptop with a plate of crumbs beside it.

Tony found the juice in the fridge more than half empty, so he just drank the rest from the carton.  "That our first hunt?" he asked, pointing at the screen.

"I think so.  We just need to go talk to the eyewitnesses tomorrow, find out what it might be."

"I thought that's what Dean was doing right now?"

"Oh.  Well, I guess he thought we shouldn't show your face just yet."

Tony watched Sam closely, but he couldn't find any obvious signs.  Still, it was suspicious.

"You mean your brother left here wearing a suit, and you didn't ask where he was going?"

Sam frowned.  "You do realize we're not actually attached at the hip, right?"

"Too bad I got paid to see through stories," Tony moved in closer to lean across the table intimidatingly.  "You're redirecting the conversation.  Where did Dean really go, Sam?"

Rolling his eyes, the boy didn't move.  "Knock it off, dude.  You couldn't scare the truth out of me if I *was* lying.  Which I'm not."

"I'd be more inclined to believe you if Dean hadn't just made a rule about not taking off alone."  Tony stayed where he was, looming in Sam's space.  "Want to try that again?"

"You and your rules," Sam grouched.  They had a quick staring contest before Sam slouched back, not thinking this was worth a real argument.  "Fine.  He went to your funeral."

Tony's jaw dropped.  "What?  But . . . why?"

Sam pointed to a chair and continued when Tony sat down.  "We've never done this before," he said seriously.

"Crashed a guy's funeral?" Tony filled in when Sam paused too long.

"Let someone in," Sam corrected, with a piercing gaze that commanded attention.  "Training you to hunt, that's straight-forward enough.  But taking you with us, being ourselves in front of you, even just admitting the crap we've gone through in the past . . . it's totally against all our instincts.  So don't get me wrong, we like you.  And we think you'll be a good hunter.  But trusting anyone is hard for us."

Tony nodded, accepting the truth in Sam's words.  "So Dean's getting my references?"

"Something like that.  Think of it more like simply making sure.  We just can't afford to assume."

"Rule number three.  Franks' rules, not Gibbs'.  I get it, though.  We've been grilling you both to check you out, so it only seems fair."  Tony snorted, "But there may be more tall tales than true ones from my team today.  I am-- was-- the prank champion and all-around comic relief."

Sam smiled.  "We could use some laughs."

Things were quiet for a while, Tony finding himself something more to eat, and Sam clicking away on his mouse.  Twenty minutes later, Tony declared that they needed a movie.  He hadn't seen one in a whole week, even if he'd been unconscious for a few of those days.  Movies calmed him down.  Self-therapy.

Gibbs, of course, only owned an old VHS player, and if there had ever been tapes to go with it, they would have been Shannon's or Kelly's.  Tony lamented the options on daytime basic cable until Sam said he could download something and connect his laptop to the tv.

"There's no HDMI port on that analog antique," Tony laughed.

"We stay in budget motels, remember?  My laptop is five years old and has an S-video output.  Can't afford to be early technology adopters on our salaries."

"Wow.  I can't believe that low-def is gonna save the day."  Tony grinned.  "So, we just need a comedy.  Something nostalgic."

"I have some Bruce Willis on a flash drive.  Dean and I don't always have the same taste, but The Whole Nine Yards is great."

"Yeah, but the sequel was so disappointing.  Hudson Hawk?"

Sam nodded.  "Got it.  Or what about The Fifth Element?"

"No, wait!" Tony cried.  "Can you download anything?"

"If it's not too obscure."

"We need Ghostbusters!"

"That was before CGI," Sam sighed, but started searching for a torrent.

"Bite your tongue, heathen!"  Tony was indignant.  "There's a whole century of great films before computers made the explosions fake.  Besides, the summer of '84, I must have taken four different dates to see Ghostbusters, and they all loved it.  They don't make 'em like that anymore."

"It's called progress, splitting all the parts girls like into their own movies.  The separation of action and sap."

"No wonder Gen Y doesn't have an identity.  You missed all the definitive movies!  Oh my God, you missed the glory days of Lucas."

"The Last Crusade was my first Indiana Jones," Sam admitted, laughing at how seriously Tony was taking this.

"Okay, new deal.  You teach me to hunt evil movie monsters, and I'm gonna catch you up on all the pop culture roots you owe your existence to."

"If you insist.  Dean's gonna be insulted, though.  We *have* seen *every* movie ever shown on tv.  Our entertainment budget has always been crap, but most places we stayed always had HBO."

"Well then maybe you just needed someone to explain what made the classics so great.  Is that finished already?" he asked in surprise when Sam started getting the connections set up.

"Yeah, I think the neighbor has fiber.  The speed is incredible."

They settled on the couch when it got started.

"Did you know Dan Aykroyd wrote the script?  And Harold Ramis only played Egon because they couldn't get a big name.  Bill Murray was supposed to be Belushi, before he died.  Oh, and it was the top grossing movie of that year."

"Okay, okay.  It's been forever since I've seen this, so if you talk on top of them, I won't know what's going on."

Tony was affronted.  "I would never.  Trust me, I know when all the long kissing breaks are."  He threw Sam a wink, and they laughed until Tony shushed them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The escape from the real world worked so well that Tony forgot why they were escaping until Dean walked in right before the end of Ghostbusters 2.  Seeing him in that suit brought it crashing back down that his own funeral had come and gone.  He hoped his friends were coping.

"Hey, I love this movie," said Dean, sitting himself on the arm of the couch beside Sam, absently pushing each other for more space.

"You can watch it later," Sam answered, getting up to pause it.

Dean noticed Tony staring at him.  When he glared at Sam, his brother shrugged.

"How was it?" Tony couldn't help asking, not sure what he wanted to hear.

"Fucking depressing," Dean admitted.  "All the hot chicks cried."

"I hope you didn't hit on them," Sam said.

"Who did they think you were?" Tony didn't really care about that, but he didn't know how to ask what everyone said.

"Gibbs introduced me as your partner from Peoria.  Mark Wilson, right?"  Tony nodded.  Mark had kept in touch, and Tony had mentioned his name to the team before.  It was a good cover.

The conversation stalled uncomfortably long.  To end the lull, Dean cleared his throat.  "Don't forget rule two, dude.  But, uh, I think you might want this."  He tossed Tony a digital audio recorder.

"Holy shit.  Is this . . . ?"  The idea was mind-boggling.

"Yeah.  So, if you wanna listen to it.  Or not.  Whatever."

"Maybe."  Tony stared at it in his hand, unsure if it was really fair.  Like it might be violating his friends' privacy or something.  "Um, later.  How about some lunch?"

"Sure, Tony.  Let's eat," said Sam gently.

"I need meat, princess," Dean told his brother, heading for the stairs.  "And to change out of this noose.  No salad!" he yelled from the top.

Tony and Sam rifled through the fridge, settling on BLTs when they found bacon in the freezer.  Sam fried all of it while Tony quietly washed and cut vegetables.  He appreciated the space Sam gave him to think quietly.

When Dean came in, he got out beers and put chips on the table, muttering about being tricked into eating healthy after all.  Sam had some response, but Tony ignored their bickering.  In fact, the brothers kept up the mild, half-hearted insults through the whole meal.  Probably to keep themselves out of any awkward silences, so Tony didn't mind.

He'd decided to wait until he could ask Gibbs whether he should listen to the tape.

Decision forestalled, food eaten, Tony finally spoke up.  "So we might have a hunt?  Fill me in."

"Four strange accidents, two deaths in a small town a couple hours south."  Dean was all-business, switching without missing a beat.

"That's over the past three years," explained Sam.  "Accidents usually mean it isn't something hungry, so it's probably a spirit."

"I'm not sure if you should come with us while we talk to the witnesses," Dean put in.  "You still look a lot like that guy on the news."

"What's your cover story?"

"Probably reporters for this one."

"If I can dress casual, it'll be different enough from my famous headshot.  Maybe add some distracting jewelry."

"That should work," Sam agreed.  "Maybe you should get some piercings.  Something you could take out later."

"We've done it before," said Dean, pointing above his right eyebrow.  "Won't even leave a scar.  Might still have the rings in the trunk, actually."

"Okay," Tony agreed.  It was heart-wrenching to think of how Abby would never get to smile at this with him.  "You want to go interview tomorrow or wait for Gibbs on Saturday?"

"Well, this is the easy part of a case," Sam pointed out.  "We can give him the choice."

"I can promise you, he won't want to miss a minute," Tony smiled.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tony spent the remainder of the afternoon soaking up the sun on the back porch, claiming a sunburn would be helpful.  He certainly managed to look relaxed, but the Winchesters knew better.

Sam and Dean went up to their guest room to talk privately.

"So what'd you hear today?"

"That Tony's an 'X-rated Peter Pan.'  Annoyed the heck out of his co-workers with all the pranks and teasing and flirting."

"Yeah, he said something similar this morning."

"Why the hell did you tell him where I went anyway?"

"Because *you* didn't tell *me* what story you made up before you left."

"Well I wasn't planning to still be here when he woke up."

"So he caught me lying, and I told him the truth.  Didn't want him to change his mind about trusting us."

"Okay, okay," Dean backed down.

"So are we keeping him?"

"Hell, yes."

"Even if he's such a goof-off?"

"It was the damnedest thing, man.  All these friends of his who complained about his personality?  They still respected the hell out of him.  As in, Tony's a real hero."

"Huh."

"Sang his praises for nearly two hours.  Not counting all the one-on-one conversations Gibbs helped me start; introduced me to everyone on their team before or after the service.  He's a good guy.  Dad would have liked him."

"You sure they didn't know each other?"

"No, I already asked."

"I tried to explain it to Tony.  You know, about how we've never taken anyone with us like this.  He seemed to get it, I guess."

"Yeah, but this doesn't have to be forever.  If it doesn't work out, we can go separate ways," Dean pointed out.  "There won't be any divorce lawyers to deal with."

"Maybe, but we're still gonna need at least a year, don't you think?  It's not like we'd let him run off to hunt solo while he was green enough to get himself killed,."

"I'm guessing six months.  You should have heard them going on about him today.  Sounded like a guy I would *not* want on my tail."

"So you think this is gonna be short term?"

"No, I'm just saying that on the off chance we drive each other nuts, it's not the end of the world.  He's not stuck with you like I am."

"Very funny," Sam rolled his eyes.  "But do we tell him all the gory details about us?  I know that shit's personal, but it'd be impossible to hide if he's with us twenty-four seven.  Or he'll meet some other hunter who will be more than happy to spill it all out."

Dean's face twisted in indecision.  "Damn it.  That crap would make anyone run away screaming, which we can't let him do before he's safe enough going solo."

"Maybe we should find someone else to teach him to hunt."

"Can we talk him out of hunting?"

"Are you kidding?  It was your idea!  He seems to want it, and it sounds like he'll be great at it.  I don't think we should cross him off just because we don't want to admit that we have issues."

"Not 'issues,' smart ass.  Huge, world-ending transgressions.  Serious character flaws."

"Hey, I don't want to tell him either.  But that's not a good reason to keep him out of hunting."

"So we find another hunter to train him."

"Who, Dean?  There's no one left that we'd trust."

"We don't have to trust them.  Just, someone competent.  But not shady like Gordon or Roy and Walt."

"Who?" Sam repeated.

They both frowned, thinking of how their contact list was mostly full of strike-throughs now.

Sam sighed.  "The world needs more good hunters like Tony will be.  We'll just have to find the right way to tell him the whole story."

"Starting where?  1973?  Our mom making a deal with a demon?  He'd take off before we finished."

"No, definitely not chronological order of events," Sam agreed.  "Maybe in the order we learned everything.  That way, the first seal, killing Lilith, Lucifer . . . will make sense, with what we knew at the time.  Start at . . . when we found the Colt?  My visions, Dad's trade, Azazel's kids, the Devil's Gate."

"You make it sound so simple," Dean almost laughed.

"Like those were the good old days?  Before the angels and Leviathans," Sam quipped sarcastically.

"The good old days were before Stanford," Dean argued.

"Dude, you've hit your head too many times.  We were all at each other's throats back then."

"Maybe, but we weren't staring down all that destiny crap either."

"True."

They sat in easy silence for a few minutes.

Sam said, "I can barely remember what we knew when."

"Dean shrugged.  "We'll manage.  Hey, I always wanted a big brother."

"What?!  No you didn't," Sam was certain.

"Well, duh.  Someone else to wipe your snotty nose and watch our backs and make dinner once in a while."

It was said flippantly, but Sam also heard the other parts Dean left unspoken.  About someone else to lighten the heavy load of responsibilities Dean had always shouldered alone.  He knew better than to try and address that though.  "So you think Tony's going to cook for you?" he teased.

"I bet we can convince him to do half our chores.  Call it the rites of initiation or something."

"Right, because he's been a complete idiot so far."

"I do hope he can help bring in some cash, though.  We're gonna be spending twice as much on motel rooms now."

"You don't pay for the rooms anyway.  The credit cards get declined after three months whether you put ten dollars or two thousand on them."

"We pay in cash sometimes," Dean argued.

"I'm sure Tony will find a way to contribute.  It's too bad he can't get into his own bank account, though.  Or even sell his stuff."

"Yeah, that would have helped."

"Oh, and you *have* realized he'll never pass for a fed while hiding his face, right?"

"I don't know.  He looks pretty different already with those glasses."

"Not enough," Sam shook his head.  "It's too risky."

"Got a better idea?"

"What about a nose job?"

"Seriously?"

"Why not?

"You can't take that away from him, too.  Would you do it?"

"If I had to.  Wait, you're saying *you* wouldn't."  Sam started laughing.  "Because you might have to get by without girls falling for your pretty-boy face."  He was practically rolling with glee, on a Sammy-scale lately.

Dean gave him the finger and a deadly glare.  "You couldn't find a doctor who wouldn't recognize him anyway," he said scathingly.  It worked to end Sam's argument, but didn't wipe the grin off his face.

They should take advantage of the free washer and dryer, Dean decided.  He got up to sort out which shirts were dirty, ignoring his brother.

"So are we on the same page about Tony?" Sam double checked.

"Sounds like," Dean grunted.

"Then I'm going down to watch the last five minutes of Ghostbusters."

"Leave it hooked up," said Dean before he got out the door.  "I wanna watch it before you delete it."

"Okay," Sam hollered from the hall.

And somehow, that was all the discussion it took to officially adopt a new brother.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tony jumped when his new phone rang.  The default ringtone was loud and jarring.  He was also startled to see the clock show 5:22 above Gibbs' name.

"What's up?" he answered, exerting conscious effort not to add "boss."

"Team's going out for drinks.  Didn't want you to wait up."

"Okay.  I'm glad you're going with them."

"I gave Dean a tape recorder . . . ."

"Yeah, he gave it to me.  You think they'd mind?"

"Nah.  They'd want you to know."

"Thanks."

Gibbs hung up on him then, but Tony expected that.  It would be worrisome if Gibbs started acting out of character now.  He'd hated the coddling after Kate's death.  And the silence after Jenny's.

The last few hours hadn't given Tony any new insights or resolve.  Perhaps a little less denial, and a half-step towards acceptance.  It still didn't feel real, but he was sure that would come soon enough.  Leaving Gibbs' house would be the nail in his coffin, Tony imagined.  Then he'd be stuck in a new reality, one he hoped would keep him too busy to miss NCIS every minute of the day.

Stretching, Tony dragged himself out of the lounge chair and went back inside.  Following the noise, he found the Winchesters nearly finished with the movie again.

"I told you it didn't need CGI."

Dean looked up and saw Tony was addressing Sam.  He frowned and reached out to punch his brother's arm in rebuke.

"Ow!  Tony, you're supposed to be taking my side," Sam protested.

"Didn't know this was a debate.  Sorry."

"Everything has sides, man," Dean explained to Tony.  "Now shut up so I can hear."

Tony went to figure out dinner, and Sam followed.  They came up with a big jar of tomato sauce and a box of spaghetti, enough to feed three men without complaint.  It was simple and quick enough.

"So Dean's hoping you play pool," said Sam after the pasta was boiling and the sauce was heating.

"Not bad, but not great.  But you don't need me to play well, I'm guessing."

"Not particularly.  And you don't have to help us hustle.  I'm not a fan of it, myself."

"Then what's your point?"  Tony was confused.

"Just making conversation."

Tony frowned.  "I thought we did this already.  I'm onto you, remember?  That nonchalant tone is your tell."

"Sometimes it's just because something's no big deal," Sam smiled.

"Nope, I can read you."  His smirk was challenging.

"Sure you can," Sam offered patronizingly.

"See, most people you con haven't spent five days with you.  Or have my ninja people skills."

"Ninjas don't have people skills," Sam laughed.

"Ninja-like skills at reading people?" Tony rephrased.  "Ninja reflexes at being lied to?"

"And how long did it take you to figure out we weren't PIs?"

"Hey, I was barely conscious.  You can't count that."

"Sorry.  I'll let you cling to your delusions, then."

"Now there's a great intro to annoying little brothers," Dean said as he came into the kitchen.

"Tony's older than you, Dean.  That makes you 'little' too."

"No, it makes me the middle, and still leaves you the little brat."

Sam straightened to his full height and raised a smug eyebrow at his *shorter* big brother.

"You boys need to take this outside?" Tony used a mock-stern voice that had both Winchesters whipping their heads at him in shock.

"What?" he asked them, surprised at the reaction.

"That?" Dean cleared his throat.  "Don't ever do that again."

"You sounded like our dad," Sam explained, sounding much more amused than his brother.

"Sorry," Tony offered in apology.

"'Sokay," Dean said as he went to grab beers from the fridge.  "No biggie."

"Now see, *that* was nonchalant," Tony pointed at Sam.

"Huh?" asked Dean.

"Tony thinks he can tell when I'm bluffing," Sam rolled his eyes.

"Really?" Dean grinned.  "You're losing your touch, Sammy.  Don't forget the puppy dog eyes next time."

Since his mouth was already on his beer, Sam just gave Dean the finger.

The timer went off then, so Sam and Dean sat out of the way at the table while Tony drained the spaghetti and poured in the sauce.

"Self-serve, guys."  He pointed to the cabinet with plates and stood back.  When he was the last to start eating, Tony chuckled at the awkward way the Winchesters were twirling their forks.  "Three strands on a flat spot," he shared helpfully.  Help that wasn't appreciated, of course, but not ignored.

After they all finished, Dean cleaned up.

"Did you talk to Gibbs today?" Sam asked Tony.

"He's out at a bar with the team.  Not usually his thing," Tony admitted, "but he'll take care of them."

"From what we've seen, he's taking this all really well."

Tony shook his head.  "If he didn't know the real story-- if you guys hadn't found me-- he'd be a wreck.  Tearing himself apart searching for clues he'd never find, leaving the kids to fend for themselves.  So if I haven't said it clearly yet: thanks."

They both gave him pleased smiles.  "You're welcome," Dean said.

"We like helping," agreed Sam.

"Almost as much as we like killing damned evil things."

"I'm starting to look forward to it," Tony admitted.

Dean turned around to show his approving grin, but Sam just looked concerned.  "It's really not that great.  Dean likes to tell himself it's so awesome, but that part is only for a few minutes after an adrenaline high, after a week or two of research and stakeouts and crying family members . . . ."  His brother looked at him with surprise and a hint of anger.

"Which *is* awesome, compared to letting some thing hurt more people," Dean argued defensively.

"No," Tony quickly got a word in.  "I know what you mean, Sam.  But that's the same life I've been living for the last twenty years.  It's just hunting a different kind of bad guy."

"No, it's not," said Sam firmly, but not unkindly.  "That was your *job.*  You had a *life* outside of it.  Hunting down real evil . . . well, after a while the evil things start hunting you back.  And there's nothing to look forward to about that."  He wound down, bringing the mood in the room with him.

Neither Dean nor Tony had a reply.  Dean finished the last pot and muttered something about drills before heading out back.  Sam winced in apology at Tony before grabbing a bottle of whiskey and following his brother. 

Alone now in the house, Tony sighed.  After a minute or two, he pulled the recorder out of his pocket and berated himself into facing it.  He grabbed another beer and walked down to the basement on shaky legs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Gibbs found him there shortly after midnight.

"How many times are you going to listen to that?" he asked gently.

Tony shrugged and hit pause.  "I didn't want to just sit here.  It was too quiet.  So, maybe I'm just getting it all out of my system in one go."  It was obvious he'd cried at some point, but his eyes were dry now.

Gibbs put a hand on Tony's shoulder, but didn't speak.

"And it's so unfair that I can't tell them . . . how much . . . ."

"They know.  They knew.  You showed us every day."

"Not like I should have," Tony shook his head regretfully.

"Sure you did.  Exactly like you should've.  If you'd tried professing your love everyday, we'd never have time to solve cases."

That got a smile.  "No chick flick moments," he agreed.  "But I--"

"Do *not* start listing the million things you could have done different.  You heard them all say how happy you made them.  Let that be enough."

Tony nodded reluctantly, knowing it was good advice even if it was hard to take.

"How are *you* doing?"

Gibbs gave him a gentle headslap before moving over to pour a drink.  "As long as you're okay, I'm okay."

"Really?" Tony drawled out.  "You're not itching to take the case away from Fornell?"

"Not since I know there's nothing to find.  And for once, he's being . . . sensitive.  It's creepy."

Laughing, Tony pointed out, "That's how we felt every time you tried to be nice for a few days."

They smiled at each other.  "It's late," Gibbs held up his watch.  "You should get some sleep."

"Yeah.  By the way, Sam found a hunting job nearby.  Thinks it's a ghost.  They want to go talk to witnesses either tomorrow or Saturday, but weren't sure if you wanted to come too."

"Is it far?"

"Couple hours.  Said there's no rush, either."

"Saturday, then.  Wouldn't miss it."

"Great.  I need someone sane there to tell me if something crazy really happens."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_**Friday** _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sam and Tony ran together again the next morning, but this time Tony headed back alone after half an hour when Sam waved him off without any teasing.  Dean walked to the store and back for more coffee and a few groceries.  Also another box of dye to bleach Tony's roots soon, with an adamant warning to handle it alone.

The rest of the day passed in equally mundane ways.  They cleaned every weapon in the trunk with a running commentary of what each was best for and any past highlights of its service record with the Winchesters.  Tony read more of John's journal and asked a few questions.  After lunch they watched Poltergeist so Dean could point out all the errors.

Sam talked Tony into four piercings: ear, nose, lip, and eyebrow.  Nothing they had on hand matched, but that just helped it to distract attention from his real facial features.  He endured it all stoically until Dean mentioned how sore it would feel lying on a pillow the first few nights.  When he added the lowest-strength reading glasses with thick frames that Dean had also bought that morning, even Sam agreed he'd never be recognized the next day.

Gibbs called to say he'd bring pizza for dinner again, and they all smirked when he walked in the door and did a double-take at Tony's face.

Plans were made for tomorrow's road trip, covers and aliases agreed on.  The rest they could discuss during the drive.

Sam and Dean went out to take advantage of Friday night bar crowds.

Tony and Gibbs opened up a special bottle of bourbon that had been waiting for a worthwhile occasion.  Not a lot of conversation was made, but they both mentioned the occasional thing that would be missed, or speculation on the future.  It was a perfect ending to the strangest week of their lives.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	6. Chapter 6

_**Saturday** _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Gibbs made them stop at his favorite diner for coffee before leaving town.  Dean grumbled while the Impala idled until the older man returned to the car with large cups for all of them and a handful of sugar packets for Tony.  Sam stole one for himself, but both Winchesters agreed the delay was worthwhile when they got their first tastes.

"So," Gibbs said, sitting behind Dean as they pulled back on the road, "fill us in on the details."

"City park in Faulkner, Maryland," said Sam.  "Guy was jogging around the lake when he suddenly jumped in and drowned where it was just four feet deep.  Witnesses thought it was weird, but didn't realize he was actually in trouble until it was too late.  Couple of years ago, a nine-year-old was climbing on the tiny bridge over the stream there and tried doing a swan dive into the sidewalk.  Then there's a handful of serious accidents.  One on the playground, two picnickers, and another jogger.  That's all I found, but the county police reports only go back four years online, so there could easily be more."

"We'll find out what the witnesses saw first, then hit the library," Dean added.

"And you think this is a ghost," Gibbs wanted confirmed.

"Not necessarily.  Could be any kind of invisible spirit."

Sam started ticking some off.  "A daeva, rakshasa, hellhound, local Native American deities, a tulpa.  But probably a ghost, yeah."

"If the ghost is invisible, how are you going to convince me it's real?"

"Depending on how old and strong it is, it will probably make itself visible when it attacks us.  But otherwise you'll still see something move by itself."

"You think it's going to attack us?" Tony asked. "They usually do when we dig up their bones," Dean explained.  "Most of the time they figure out we're gunning for them even sooner.  But they're easy enough to keep away with salt or iron." "Will we need those today?"

"Only if we go to the park, which I wasn't planning on yet.  It's not the details left on the scene that are gonna be helpful here."

Sam piped up, "When a murder is fresh or there's something corporeal to leave clues, that's when we'd want a look at the scene."

"So what are we trying to get from the witnesses?" Gibbs asked.

"Hopefully someone was close enough to feel a cold spot.  That's the easiest indication of a spirit.  The temperature drops dramatically in a tight radius around them.  Sometimes electronics stutter.  How the victim was acting in the previous days can help narrow things down.  Very few supernatural things are truly random predators.  Ghosts usually prefer people with some similarities to themselves, or they want revenge on a certain type."

Tony frowned.  "Look boss, all those seminars about profiling serial killers will still come in handy.  Oh, goody."

"Yep," responded Dean grimly.

"Ghosts are souls that refused to move on to the afterlife, and mostly that's because they died unexpectedly.  Watching the world go on without them drives them crazy, literally, so they start taking it out on anyone who reminds them of their death."

"So we need to find what the victims had in common," said Gibbs.

"It definitely helps, but not always.  Too often it's some personal secret that doesn't come up in interviews.  But sometimes it lets us narrow down the list of possible ghosts."

Dean added, "Like at a place where there's been a lot of deaths.  Hospital, asylums, a jail, really old houses, that kind of thing.  How it chooses victims or the way they die helps us figure out which one of the hundred possible spirits is still there.  But this case could easily just be about convenience and location."

"One time we did come across a serial killer's ghost," Sam said like it was merely interesting trivia.

Gibbs and Tony exchanged an alarmed look.  The idea that some of the creeps they'd taken down could still be out there with the power to keep on killing . . . ?  It was a horrible thought.

"Why don't more people become ghosts?" Tony wondered.

"Because the damn reapers are pretty persuasive," Dean grumbled.

"Reapers?" Gibbs challenged with a scoff.  "Like the black robe and scythe Grim Reaper?"

"They usually wear suits nowadays," Dean laughed, knowing exactly how crazy it all sounded.  "Only the boss has a scythe, though.  First one we met looked like Methuselah, but the one who I got some one-on-one time with looks like a hot chick.  Her name's Tessa," he grinned.

"Oh, come on," Tony complained.  "You're just shitting us now."

"Dean's died several times," Sam teased awkwardly, like he was trying too hard to make it funny.  "Tessa's practically his girlfriend.  Definitely his longest relationship-- OW!"

The slug wasn't gentle.  "Anyway," Dean emphasized, "most people go with a reaper like they're supposed to."

"Do you know *where* they go?" Tony had to ask.  He was still skeptical on the topic, but curiosity won out.

"Heaven and hell are real," Sam said seriously.  "There may be more realms for other faith systems, but we haven't run into them."

"You don't mean you *have* run into--?"

"It's a long, long story," Dean interrupted.

"It's a long drive," Gibbs pointed out, with the kind of tone Tony knew was really an order to be followed.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other.  When Dean shrugged, Sam shifted in the seat until he was slouching comfortably to begin their whole epic tale.

"There's not a good place to start," he warned, "but for me, well, it was losing my girlfriend that brought me back into hunting.  Dad and Dean were still at it full-time, trying to find whatever had killed Mom, but I had plans for a regular life with a normal job.  And I hadn't told Jessica the truth about my past or that monsters were real."

"Sam, they don't need to hear you blaming yourself."  Dean spoke quietly.

"Yeah.  So, first semester of my senior year, Dean showed up one day to say that Dad was missing.  They had started splitting up, letting Dean work solo jobs.  Which should have been our first clue."

"Hey, it's not like I couldn't handle myself just fine.  Don't say it like that."

"Right, because he trained us to work as a team just so you could end up hunting alone," Sam said sarcastically.  "He took you on every hunt after you turned-- what, fourteen?-- and let you quit school the day you turned eighteen, because he planned to go back to doing it all by himself someday?  Dean, really, we should have figured something was going on the first time he got secretive again."

Dean just shook his head in disagreement.

"Sam?" Gibbs spoke up.  "Where were you while they hunted monsters when you were little?"

"Usually at a motel nearby or sometimes waiting in the car.  Dad stuck to easy stuff for a couple years.  I think I was in sixth grade the first time I stayed by myself for more than twenty-four hours.  Every now and then something would take longer and he'd arrange a babysitter or something, but they mostly just went out on the weekends.  Dean and I still had school, and research took a lot longer before the internet.  Dad could spend weeks at the library finding a single clue."

"It got better once he taught Sam to do the research for us," Dean grinned.

"After Dean was eighteen, I didn't see them much.  But honestly it was easier on all of us that way, because I hated switching schools so often.  That way I could stay in one place while they found several jobs within a day's drive.  I got to focus on school and didn't mind being mostly on my own.  The three of us in a small motel room could get pretty cramped."

"We called in every evening to remind him to brush his teeth," added Dean, sensing the disapproval in Gibbs' question, but long used to it.  "He was always a boring and responsible little nerd."

"Dude, I did a *thousand* loads of your laundry.  How 'bout a little groveling appreciation?"

"I think we paid you in cold hard cash for all your chores, kiddo."

"Only enough for rent and food!"

"And clothes and shoes, you overgrown freak."

"Your hand-me-downs don't count, jerk."

Tony cut in.  "Now I get it.  You two just want to keep me around as a referee, huh?"

Dean shrugged.  "We kind of grew apart for a long time."

"Sometimes we fall back into our junior high patterns," Sam laughed.

"But don't worry, man," his brother added.  "We've already worked out most of our issues after being stuck together nearly every day for the last six years."

"Except for when you--  Never mind."  Sam switched off the banter.  "Anyway, they still drug me with them every summer, Christmas, and spring break.  So I was still hunting plenty, but I quit completely when college started.  So when Dean showed up, I was a little rusty.  We went together to Dad's last known location, but he wasn't there.  He'd left all his research and the case was unfinished, which was when we realized something was seriously wrong.  But we closed it ourselves, and I went back to school."  Sam paused before going on.  "That night when I got back to school . . . Jess was killed right in front of me.  *Exactly* the way our mom was.  I hadn't protected her."

"There was no way to know she was in danger," Dean insisted.

"I never once laid down salt or put up symbols or anything basic just because I didn't want her to think I was crazy," Sam admitted, shaking his head.  "But I was angry at myself and furious at whatever had killed her, so I quit school and went with Dean to keep looking for Dad.  He'd been searching for our mom's killer my whole life, but he'd never told us what he knew about it.  I figured that we could get revenge together; that he'd tell me everything if I asked."  Sam's tone grew bitter.  "But Dad was avoiding us, and we couldn't find him.  A few times he'd send us on a job-- hunting something else-- but he wouldn't answer the phone."

"He was keeping it away from us," Dean defended.

"We didn't know that at the time," Sam reminded him.  "When you were *dying,* he still maintained radio silence!"

The brothers glared at each other, leaving the backseat passengers uncomfortable.

Dean quickly cleared his throat and changed the subject.  "That was the first time we saw a reaper, actually.  I'd gotten electrocuted during a fight with a rawhead, and my heart was damaged.  Sam did some kung-fu research and found a real faith healer working out of a tent revival.  Guy picked me; I don't know why.  But it actually worked.  Next day we found out some other dude my age suddenly keeled over nearby with no prior health problems.  Did some more digging and found out all the miracles had the same price.  When we searched the preacher's house, it turned out his wife had a black magic hobby on the side.  She'd done a spell to control a reaper so the preacher's congregation would grow or whatever.  Found out we were onto her, so she set the reaper on me, and Sam saved the day."

"I just had to break her talisman," he explained, "and the reaper went back to wherever he was supposed to be."

That left the car quiet for a minute.  "Huh," Tony said belatedly, not knowing what to make of that story.

"Was that before or after Dad finally called?" Dean asked Sam.

"After.  I really thought he'd answer when I left a message that you were in the hospital."

"Wasn't anything he could have done about it."

"Maybe not, but he should have talked to us anyway."

"Let it go, Sam," said Dean tiredly.  He looked in the mirror at their riders in the backseat.  "Dad finally called us and said he already knew about what happened to Jessica, that it was a demon, and he was after it."

"We eventually crossed paths in Chicago," Sam took over again.  "We were on a job that we didn't know was a demon, but it was possessing this girl named Meg.  She wanted to use us as bait for Dad.  He came, and we all managed to get away, but we finally understood why he'd been keeping his distance.  The demon that killed Jess and Mom, it knew Dad was hunting it, so it had started hunting him back.  We split up again and didn't hear anything for another month.  Then one of Dad's contacts was killed; Dean and I checked it out because we were nearby; and Dad showed up too, claiming Elkins had owned a special gun that could kill anything.  Even a demon."

"Sounded like baloney to us," Dean smiled.  "Then Dad goes and says it looked like *vampires* killed Elkins," he laughed.  "Thought he'd finally lost his mind."

Tony grinned.  "Oh please, please tell me Twilight is real."

"Dad had never taught us anything about vampires," Sam said.  "He thought they were extinct.  But he knew enough about them to find the ones that killed his friend, and we got the old Colt revolver they'd taken."

"Wait," Tony interrupted.  "So are vampires at least cold and sexy?"

"Cold, I think.  Strong.  Sense of smell like a bloodhound."

Dean added, "They don't like light, and they can hear a heart beating at 500 feet.  Makes them damn hard to sneak up on.  But all you have to do is cut their head off.  No wooden stake or garlic or crap like that."  Something in his voice was off, like it was a touchy subject for him.

"But we found out the Colt worked," steered Sam.  "Dad put a round in one, and it died.  Then we learned there were only four bullets left.  But now that we had a way to kill the demon, of course that's when things went sideways."  He didn't continue, and Dean shot him concerned glances for a few moments.

"Boys, you don't have to tell us all this," Gibbs said.

Dean sighed.  "We're gonna have to tell Tony anyway."

"Well, give him some time to digest this much."

Sam nodded.  It was a good idea.

Dean shrugged and popped a Zeppelin tape in-- at a lower volume than usual.  The end of the conversation didn't leave the space in the car uncomfortable, except that Sam was clearly brooding while he stared out the window.  His brother didn't seem concerned about it, though.  Gibbs and Tony shared a glance and shrugged.

Physical Graffiti turned into The Doors' debut album before the Impala rolled into the small town.

"Let's swing by the park," Sam suggested.

Dean didn't question him, and drove straight to it without a glance at the map.  They got out to have a look around, and Sam opened the trunk to pull out an EMF reader.  He started walking around with it, and the others tried to look casual while following him.

"Most spirits leave a charge in the air that dissipates slowly.  We might still be able to get some low readings here," Dean said.  He pointed to the other side of the pond.  "That's probably the bridge where the kid died."

"Got it," Sam announced, holding up the equipment for them to see.  Less than half the lights on top of it were lit.  "Guess this is where the jogger drowned."  He took a few more steps to the edge of the water, and another light lit up when he held the reader as far out as his arm would reach.

Gibbs motioned to hand over the EMF detector, which Sam didn't mind, lips curling slightly when the agent walked it around himself to confirm that the readings were specific to just the one spot.  Tony looked around the ground, unsurprised that it had seen too much traffic for any distinctive tracks to remain.  Then he noticed that Sam and Dean were scanning farther away.

"What are you expecting to find?" he asked them.

"Nothing," Dean admitted.  "But you never know.  Some new construction could have disturbed an old grave.  A spot where all the plants died might be suspicious.  Just anything that might seem off."

"Abby calls that 'hinky.'"

"She was hot," Dean suddenly grinned.  "You two ever try to--"

Gibbs cut him off with a bark.  "Rule twelve is 'never date a co-worker.'"

Tony grinned at Dean's quick snap to innocence.  "She's too smart for guys like me.  And Gibbs would shoot anyone who broke her heart."

"Well," said Sam as he wandered back, "I don't see anything here.  Ready to move on?"  He pocketed the EMF reader when Gibbs returned it.

"Interviews, then lunch, then the library," Dean nodded.

As they got back in the car, Gibbs asked, "Are we staying together?"

"Four of us on a doorstep would be overkill," said Dean.

Sam suggested, "Me and Tony can hit these three near the middle of town," he held up a printed map already marked.  "We can meet you at whatever restaurant's on the main street."

Gibbs nodded, but the Winchesters didn't dare ask if it was agreement or permission.

Dean snickered.  "I figure Tony's piercings will make Sam's hair look practically respectable."

"Well, you're going to look like a green recruit next to Gibbs."

"Then we've got every female demographic covered.  They'll be eating out of our hands before you can wiggle your puppy-dog eyes."

"Have fun flirting with the teeny-boppers."

"How do you two get any work done?" Gibbs finally growled.

They actually looked chagrined as Dean pulled up in front of the nearest house on the map, where Sam and Tony waved them away.

"Will they be okay?" Tony wondered.

"Yeah.  Dean loves to play good little soldier.  Nothing he liked more than showing off to Dad how obedient he could be."

"Saved all the attitude for you, huh?"

"Not exactly.  They both liked to let off steam in the same ways," Sam smiled fondly.  He pulled a small notebook and pen out of a jacket pocket.  "I'll take the lead here, but feel free to jump in anytime."

"Can do," Tony agreed as they walked up to the door.

After they knocked, a softly plump woman in her fifties answered.  "Hello?"

"Hi.  Are you Mrs. MacIntyre?" Sam asked.

"Yes.  Can I help you?"  She stared at Tony's nose ring for a few seconds, but didn't seem to be alarmed.

"Do you have a few minutes?  We're from the Maryland Morning News and are looking into some reports of several accidents at the city park."

"Oh?" she looked surprised.  "Sure.  Please, come on in.  I heard about poor Dave Maddich last week, of course."  They followed her to a clean but cluttered kitchen, where they could see a man mowing in the window to the backyard.

"Thank you," Sam smiled when she gestured to the table.  "We were told your husband was injured at the park last year."

Her face quickly slipped to a wince.  "Yes, that's true.  It was just awful, it really was.  But completely an accident.  I'm not sure if that would help your article."

"Maybe you could tell us what happened?"  As Sam spoke, Tony saw the sympathetic eyebrows and wrinkled forehead that Dean loved to tease his brother about.  But it certainly got results.

"I guess so," she nearly blushed under the full force of that gaze.  "My husband had just bought one of those tiny portable grills, and we were going to have a picnic on his lunch hour.  Our youngest daughter started college a couple years ago, so we were trying to rekindle some romance.  Anyway, everything was fine until he was checking to see if the burgers were done.  When he stood back up, somehow he lost his balance and fell backwards on top of the grill.  Fortunately, it was so low to the ground that only his legs were hurt.  The county hospital's ER said that the big thermometer fork could have killed him if it had gone through any higher.  The burns healed in about a month."  She turned her head to look out the large windows although the mower had moved out of sight.

"That must have been quite a scare," Tony offered, just to have said something.

"Was there anything unusual at the park that day?" Sam asked casually while jotting something in his notebook.  "Chemical smells, strong winds, strange sounds?"

"No, I don't think so.  I do remember it getting cold and borrowing Joe's jacket, because when the ambulance arrived I was sweating so much they thought I might be sick.  Just forgot to take it off, really, and I guess the sun came back out during all the excitement."

"Okay.  Do you know anyone else who was hurt at the park?"

"Sure.  A few folks have through the years.  But that's just because it's such a popular place, right?  During the summer it's downright crowded."

"I'm sure you're probably right," agreed Sam.

"Do you think Joe would mind talking to us?" Tony asked.

"If you want to swing by later," she nodded.  "He'd want to wash off first, or I'd call him in now."

"That's okay.  Let me leave you our card, if you wouldn't mind.  He can give us a call if he thinks of anything else, but you've been very clear and helpful."  Sam turned on the full dimples as they stood up to shake hands.

She nearly melted into a mothering softy.  "Oh, you poor boys, out working on a beautiful Saturday.  Would you like something for the road?  I've got fresh lemonade or home-grown strawberries."

"Oh, that sounds so wonderful, Mrs. MacIntyre, but--"

"Please call me Gail."

"Thank you, Gail, but the rules say we can't.  Sometimes we're out with people who aren't so trustworthy, you know."

"Well, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble with your boss."

"He's a stickler for regulations," added Tony sadly, wondering why they were turning her down.

"But you are so kind to offer," Sam smiled again on their way to the door.

"Of course.  Y'all take care."

"Bye," they chorused.

When they had walked out of earshot, Tony asked, "Why on God's green earth would you turn down free refreshments?!"

Sam shrugged.  "Makes us less memorable, and plus we'd have to carry it to the next place.  That would look strange, don't you think?"

"Huh.  Maybe.  I'm still not used to worrying about standing out."

"And Dean was drugged once when a witness gave him a beer, so our paranoia is justified."

"Hey, was the cold air she mentioned a sign of a ghost?"

"Probably.  And the odds are definitely against gravity putting a grilling fork through someone's thigh from a simple backwards stumble."

"You think he was pushed by the ghost?"

"See, you're getting the hand of this," Sam grinned.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You got a file on this guy?" Gibbs asked as the Impala arrived in front of a surprisingly new home on the other side of the small town.

"Just the police report and newspaper blurb.  They're in that folder at your feet.  Pull the map back out while you're at it."

"Thought you must have that memorized," smirked the Agent.

Dean shook his head.  "Only the first stops.  Good way to kill time while Sam's making his hair pretty."

Gibbs found the printout with their current address scrawled in the margin.  "Says Mike Hawkins was jogging at the park when a tree fell on top of him.  Seriously?"

"With only 'minor injuries,' I'm thinking more like an overgrown bush.  But maybe the dude saw something, who knows?  Dad would come back to haunt me if I tried to cut corners.  This part of a job isn't much better than the library."

That earned him a strange look.  "It's easy to joke about your old man as a ghost?"

"With all the shit we've seen," Dean answered seriously, "you gotta deal somehow.  Laugh or scream or cry, know what I mean?  And trust me, we already gave him more tears than he'd have wanted.  Now, are we ready to go chit chat with Mr. Hawkins?"

Gibbs opened the car door and got out.  "You talk.  I'll take notes."

Dean shrugged and walked up to ring the doorbell.  Just to make his day extra special, a teenage girl in a tight, spaghetti-strapped tank top appeared.

Gibbs' grin was genuine.  Dean's was uncomfortable and late.  "Hi.  We're looking for Mike.  Is he home?"

Her eyes were wide as she stared at him for too many seconds before shaking herself out of the trance and nodding dumbly.

"Uh... can you go get him?" Dean prodded.  She walked backwards, smiling shyly until she had to turn a corner.

Dean rolled his eyes.  "Thank God you're here instead of Sam," which made Gibbs laugh out loud.

"What makes you think I'll go easier on you?"

Finally the dad came to the door.  "Can I help you?"  The girl was watching from the hall.

"Hello, sir.  We're from the Maryland Morning Newspaper, doing a story about the recent drowning at the city park.  A lot of people are wondering if it's still a safe place for running, and we heard you had an accident there a couple years ago.  Would you mind telling us about it?"

"Um, I guess so.  Come on in."

The house had a small room right off the entryway with a piano and French horn against the far wall, and mismatched couches against the other two.  Dean and Gibbs went straight to the side with a view out the windows.

"So what exactly do you want to know?"

The girl interrupted them then and stepped closer.  "Can I get you anything to drink?"  Her eyes never left Dean.

Her dad didn't seem to notice anything unusual.  "That's thoughtful of you, honey."

Dean was careful to smile just the right strength to be barely polite without encouraging further interest.  "Some coffee would be great.  Strong and black, please."  He jumped on the opportunity to get this jailbait to leave the room.  Gibbs was surprised when she remembered to look his way, but nodded his agreement with Dean's choice.

"Well, sir," Dean said after she stepped away, "what happened to Mr. Maddich was rather strange.  Was there anything unusual or suspicious about your incident at the park?"

"Oh, yeah, it was extremely unusual.  Never did figure out what caused it, but some things are just a freak of nature, I guess."

Gibbs took out a pad and pen.  "Tell us about the tree."

"It was some kind that flowered in the Spring.  Sorry, I don't know the name.  I remember they'd planted it just two or three years before, but that was the first time it left a mess of petals all over the sidewalk.  Kinda purple colored."

"How big was it?"

"Hmm, maybe ten feet tall?  Not very thick yet, thank God."

"Any clues what made it fall?" asked Dean.

"Beats me.  I thought it might've been diseased or something, but Alan told me they couldn't find anything wrong with it.  He's the landscape contractor for the city.  Does my office, too."

"Wind?" Gibbs asked succinctly.

"That's everyone's best guess, but I swear I didn't notice any.  And no, I didn't black out or anything.  The way the trunk was broken, that's sure what it looked like, but I'd have remembered a gust strong enough to snap a tree, even a half-grown one.

"*Anything* memorable about the weather that day?" Dean clarified.

"Nope.  Just a nice, sunny day.  Still cold in the mornings like always in the early Spring."

"Okay.  Did you see anything or anyone out of place?"

"What?"  The guy looked confused.  "You think it wasn't something natural?"

"No, no.  Just covering all the angles.  Want to make sure the city's not being negligent or something.  Or teenage pranks, maybe."

"Well, I don't know how much force it would take to bring a tree down, but I sure don't think a person could have done it."

"So everyone you saw at the park that day was familiar?"

"Oh.  There was this one kid.  Must have been around thirteen or so.  I only noticed because I had just dropped my daughter off at school before my run, so I thought he should have been in class.  But I didn't recognize him and haven't seen him since, so he must have been from out of town.  Or homeschooled nearby."

"Was he near the tree?"

"I only saw him after it fell.  There was a small crowd pretty quick, seeing if they could help.  He was just watching from behind the others, but not suspiciously.  Just a normal kid."

"All right," Dean waved that topic away.  "How badly were you hurt?"

"Just a lot of scratches.  Could have driven myself to the clinic, but a friend insisted.  Only four places needed stitches."

"Glad to hear that."  Dean opened his mouth to go on, but the daughter brought in two mugs of coffee in that moment.  "Thank you," he accepted while avoiding eye contact.

"This is very good," Gibbs told her, trying to take some of the girl's attention before Mr. Hawkins noticed her preoccupation with Dean.

"Emily's a good girl," the dad said proudly.  "Except when she's picking on her little brother."

"Did you ever ask if she knew the kid you saw that day?" Gibbs inquired casually.

"Well, no.  It wasn't important."

"What are you talking about?" she asked eagerly, clearly hoping for an excuse to stay in the room.

"Couple years ago, boy around your age," her father was a bit patronizing about including her.  "Skinny with short black hair.  He was there when that darn tree fell on me.  Do you know any homeschooled kids around here?"

"Just the Williamson family, but their boys are a lot younger."

"How big is your school, Emily?" asked Gibbs.

"Four hundred in the whole secondary campus.  Sixty-three in my class."

"Sounds like where I grew up," he smiled.  "Where do y'all go for fun?"  Dean was drinking his coffee quickly, so Gibbs figured they'd be on their way very soon.

"There's a good mall half an hour away.  And Jacob Turner got a new X-Box for Christmas, so we hang out at his house a lot."

"Teenage girls aren't as scary as I once thought," her dad quipped.

Gibbs didn't reply, but finished his own coffee and looked at Dean.

The silence stretched just long enough to start being awkward.

"Okay, then."  Dean cleared his throat.  "Thank you for your time, Mr. Hawkins.  Here's my card, just in case you think of anything else.  But you're probably right that it was just bad luck.  Sorry to have bothered you on a Saturday."

"It's no trouble," Mike said as they stood and shook hands.  When he escorted them to the door, Emily followed.

"Bye bye!" she gushed loudly at Dean.  He ignored her, no longer caring if he looked rude.  When he got back into his car, she was still watching from the open doorway, waving enthusiastically.

Gibbs laughed again.  "That happen a lot?"

"No," Dean grimaced.  "Not when I'm twice their age.  Jeeze!  Ten years ago, sure.  But the clingy type are bad news, no matter how old they are."  He started the car and pulled them to the next street.  "Okay, where's the next one?"

The map was consulted.  "Turn right."

Dean turned the music on, but Gibbs popped the tape out.  "So what did we just learn?" he wanted to know.

"Definitely something here, if they don't have an explanation for that tree.  Possibly the kid, if any records match."

"How can a child's ghost knock down a tree?"

"Spirits are stronger than the living.  Telekinetic energy versus physics, or something.  Ask Sam that part.  All I know is that the ghost of a six-year-old beat the crap out of me once."

Gibbs kept looking at him long enough to be sure Dean wasn't kidding.  "Now that?  I'd pay to see."

"Speaking of so-*not*-funny, don't let Sam find out that we drank their coffee."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Sam led them like a homing pigeon to the mom and pop restaurant in the middle of town, Tony was starving.

"Okay, I'll admit it.  I'm going to really miss the vending machines down in the break room.  Tell me you don't make a habit of going six hours straight without snacks."

"Why do you think Dean prefers meals with at least 3,000 calories?"

They took an open table in the corner, sliding to the inside seats of the booth to leave room for their partners.

"Where does he put it all?" Tony pouted.  "I haven't seen him work out that much."

"Well, we are off our *normal* routine," Sam admitted.  "This is the longest we've been sedentary in a long time.  Don't worry-- digging up graves is great exercise," he added quietly with a huge grin.

"I just love how you say that without irony," Tony shook his head ruefully.

The middle-aged waitress came by to give them menus.  "Drink orders, gentlemen?"

Sam looked to Tony first.  "Diet Coke, please."

"I'll have a water to start.  And the next time the coffee's fresh, we'd like a whole pot.  Got two more joining us soon."

"Y'all want to wait on them before ordering?"

"No, they won't mind.  Just give us a minute."

"Sure thing."

Tony looked at Sam curiously after she left.  "I get the feeling you already know what's good here."

Sam shrugged.  "We've probably eaten at a couple thousand places exactly like this.  They're all pretty similar.  Dean'll tell you that it's hard to mess up a cheeseburger.  But I'm more about what foods are hard to get right.  Just don't expect any of the produce to be fresh, and remember that anything fried will probably leave you in the john for most of the afternoon."

Tony laughed.  "I'll take your word on that one."

They saw Dean come in the door with Gibbs close behind just as the waitress brought their drinks.

"Are y'all ready to order now?" she asked.

"Excuse me, miss."  Dean tapped her hip gently to get her attention and put on a big grin.  "These two giving you any trouble?" he asked as she stepped back for him to slide next to Sam.

With that indulgent look most women over forty used when Dean got flirtatious, she shook her head.  "Seems like trouble just arrived.  What can I get you?"

Dean liked her a lot.  "Just coffee, if it's good."

"Brewing a fresh pot just for you, pumpkin.  And you, sir?" she looked at Gibbs.

"Same."

"Okay, then.  Just let me grab a couple more menus."

"Don't need 'em," Dean stopped her.  "What do you recommend?"

She arched an eyebrow, daring him to see how far he'd keep attempting the sweet-talk.  "Danny does a great meatloaf.  Comes with two veggies."

"Works for me," he grinned.  "Mashed potatoes and corn, if you please."

Sam hurried before Dean could start asking about available pies.  "I'll have the Cajun chicken salad."

She jotted it down and turned to Tony, subconsciously running a hand over her own eyebrow while trying not to wince at his piercings.

"Hamburger and fries, please," he said.  "No mayo."  Tony was frowning slightly after watching Dean usurp his usual role as the charmer, realizing there wouldn't be much flirting in his own future with the disguise he currently used.

"Would you like another minute, sir?" she asked Gibbs.

"Meatloaf's fine.  Add the potatoes and something green."

"Beans good?"  Gibbs nodded.

Knowing she would be right back, no one initiated conversation until after the coffee had arrived and been poured.

"So how has your day been, dear?" Dean started with a nudge to Sam's ribs.

"Not bad, *pumpkin*," Sam answered seriously, not even bothering to roll his eyes.  "Two reported cold spots, and one possible sighting."

"Oh yeah?" Dean looked pleasantly surprised.  "That's more than we came up with.  Which one saw it?"

"The mom of the boy who jumped off the bridge.  Thought he was playing with an older kid before it happened, but didn't see him after the accident."

"Did you get a description?" Gibbs asked.

"No.  She was pretty fragile, and I didn't want to push our luck.  Why?"

"The jogger who was treed saw a beanpole thirteen-year-old boy with dark hair.  Not sure it wasn't just a real kid, though," Dean filled them in.

"Ages match," Tony pointed out.

"That all you got?" Sam asked, but not challenging like Tony would have expected.  He interpreted that to indicate how experienced the Winchesters really were with the reality of canvassing interviews.

"Well, we know the dead guy's family wasn't there, and they said he was acting normally before his accident.  The newlyweds only noticed trouble with their radio before their picnic got crashed.  Yet, tree guy said it definitely wasn't the wind."  Dean shrugged before adding, "And I didn't want to ruin the fun tour of the library I know you've got planned."

Sam smirked.  "And here I thought you'd be dancing on the table to have the work split in half."

"Hey!"  Dean blinked.  "I hadn't thought of that.  Hell yes, I'm excited!" he grinned evilly at Tony.

"Gibbs, I don't suppose--"

"Suck it up, DiNozzo."

Dean and Sam laughed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The library turned out to be just a block over, and conveniently next to the city government offices.

"Good," said Dean, getting a look as they walked by.  "No cameras."

Gibbs and Tony waited for him to elaborate, glancing at each other to silently ask if the other had a clue.

Sam noticed their confusion.  "Just in case we need property records or birth certificates or something.  This case doesn't seem that urgent, but a lot of times we can't wait for regular business hours."  When they reached the library door, he held it for the others.

Two seconds after stepping inside, Dean clapped Gibbs on the back and spoke in a normal volume that seemed to echo loudly in the small atrium.  "Come on, man.  Let's find a book on muscle cars, and I'll prove to you I'm right."  Fortunately, Gibbs kept his face neutral and followed Dean without comment as they wandered off towards the nonfiction shelves.

Sam was ignoring them and had stepped up to the librarian at the desk in front of them.  Tony joined him and smiled politely at the girl who had been watching them all interestedly since the door opened.

Sam moved close enough to block her line of sight to Dean and smiled his biggest dimples-flashing grin.  "Hi," he oozed in a voice Tony hadn't heard before.  The distraction definitely worked, as her mouth opened but no sounds came out.  She was around twenty-five with the overdone makeup and slightly greasy hair that Tony associated with trailer parks.  Not particularly pretty nor unattractive, and certainly not used to being the focus of a sexy man's attention.  "We're reporters doing an article on the history of the city landmarks.  Could you help us find the newspaper archives?"

She blinked and nodded and finally smiled.  "Uh, sure.  This way."  They trailed her in the opposite direction from Dean and Gibbs, through a computer room and past a children's area.  She pointed at a lateral filing cabinet on the rear wall, next to windows that overlooked the backside of a post office.  "These go back about ten years, I think.  Everything before that is on microfiche."  They walked a bit further and turned into a small, dark room that was hardly bigger than a closet.  One chair and a microfiche reader were squeezed next to an old card catalogue system and a couple more filing cabinets.  The girl pointed to the bottom drawer of one.

"Do you know how to use the machine?" she asked, looking hopeful they would require lots of assistance.

"Yes, but thank you.  If I need more help, will you be at the front desk?"  Sam was still abusing his charm, but it was effective at getting her to go away.  Tony laughed, knowing the poor girl would be sitting and waiting for them until the building closed, probably not even moving away for a bathroom break.

"So that's how you made straight As at Stanford," he teased.

"Ha!  I sure wish it had been that easy!  I'm going to go get Dean.  Be right back."

It didn't take thirty seconds.  Sam was taller than the shelves, and Dean's eyes were already watching for him.

"So why did we split up?" Tony wanted to know when they congregated in front of the newspaper collection.

Dean made a face.  "Man, that chick had a town-gossip warning on top of her in neon lights.  This job is a lot harder with that kind of scrutiny.  Having four of us together stands out too much as it is."

"Then let's hurry up," Gibbs suggested pointedly.

Sam nodded at the cabinet.  "Newspapers go back ten years.  I'll start on the microfiche."

"Take Tony with you," Dean interjected when Sam turned away.

"It's too small," Tony explained when Sam ignored the instruction.

"Oh."  Dean opened the top drawer and started pulling out stacks, handing armloads to Tony and Gibbs.  "Okay, online went back four years, so we only have six to cover."  They found some empty tables nearby and sat with Tony at his own, but still close enough to talk quietly to each other.

"Skim the front page and police reports.  Obituaries are probably our best bet, but they've gotta be read in full.  We're looking for anyone who died at the park, but jot down any boys ten to sixteen who died anywhere.  Or any other park accidents that might turn up a good witness.  Got it?"

The NCIS agents just nodded, and they all dug in.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The library didn't close until nine o'clock, but they unanimously voted to call it a day after seven.  The physical newspapers had finally been exhausted, and they'd taken turns on the microfiche back to '99 without any promising results.

The Impala was still in front of the diner, where they grabbed orders to go before starting the drive back to D.C.  Dean threatened bodily harm if any crumbs touched the seats before starting some Metallica to match his grumpy mood, and they passed the first hour in silence.  When the tape started over, Gibbs leaned forward.

"Turn it off."  Dean sighed but complied.  "What's your next move?"

"We'll try a few shortcuts by phone tomorrow," said Sam.  "Talk to some older residents, local preacher, maybe a doctor-- see if they remember any deaths at the park."

"Why not do that to start with?" Tony asked.

"Avoiding attention," Dean said tiredly.  "Don't want to be adding to our FBI files, remember?  When this ghost's grave turns up disturbed, someone's gonna remember the guys asking about him.  Normally, we'd keep on truckin' at the library for several more days before asking outright, but with just one person at a time on the archives, I think this could take forever."

"And tomorrow's Sunday," Sam pointed out.  "It's always hard to get anywhere with short library hours and few people at home."  Both agents nodded knowingly.

"I should put in some more hours at work tomorrow," said Gibbs.  "You boys can have all the rest of the fun by yourselves.  Just call me in when it's time for the show."

"Can do," agreed Dean.

No one else spoke up, and the silence continued for a couple minutes.  When Dean pulled up the shoebox of cassettes to rifle through, he turned his head at just the right angle to notice Tony in his peripheral vision.  The sunglasses made it impossible to guess what held his attention out the window, but the deep creases on his forehead said it wasn't pleasant.

"Def Lepard or Van Halen?" Dean asked the whole car.  Sam turned to frown at him in suprise, and Gibbs merely gave him an unimpressed stare in the rearview.  That was when they saw that the driver's attention was solely on Tony.

When Tony didn't shift or speak, Sam shook his head at Dean to leave the guy alone.  Of course, Dean's reflex was to do the opposite of anything his little brother wanted.  "David Lee Roth or Sammy Hagar, Tony?"

"Roth."

Tony's tone was absent and he still didn't move.  After giving him five more seconds, Gibbs intervened.

"What's up, DiNozzo?"

That got the man's full attention, and his head jerked like he was startled.  "Nothing," Tony protested.

Gibbs simply continued to stare at his friend, knowing exactly how to handle his senior agent's moods.

"I'm just realizing that it's been a week.  You know, since . . . ."

Sam's empathetic wince was the only reaction.

It seemed that was all Tony was going to say, so Gibbs patted his knee firmly.  "We can still try to clean this up, if you want."

Tony rolled his eyes and relaxed his shoulders a fraction.  "No, thanks.  My face is already on tv too much as it is.  Besides . . . Dean would miss me."

That got enough chuckles from everyone to make them quit worrying.  And the driver picked Hagar's "5150" album in retaliation.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	7. Chapter 7

_**Wednesday** (Four Days Later)_

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tony really, really missed his work computer and all the easy access it brought to finding needles in haystacks.  Trying to solve a case without it reminded him of being a rookie cop in the early '90s when all the veterans grumbled about the newfangled electronic files in the same breath as reminiscing about the "good old days" of digging through a hundred boxes full of paper cuts for weeks at a time before unearthing a single lead.  The Winchesters' methods weren't completely archaic, but NCIS had spoiled him.

After an unfruitful Sunday listening to Sam and Dean con their way into a dozen conversations about the town's possibly-shady past, they were stalled for ideas and ready to call it a night when Tony naively suggested expanding the search to a fifty-mile radius with missing and runaway teens added in.  The brothers shrugged approval and tabled it until morning.

Which was when he discovered that search parameters weren't just words typed into a keyboard.

Tony knew that already.  Honestly.  It just hadn't registered at the moment the thought was voiced.

Fortunately, Sam said the list of missing kids was publically on the internet.  But Dean clearly had as much patience as Gibbs with unsolved cases, because after two and a half days of library hopping, he declared that he was going to acquire all the police reports for the county "the easy way."

Of course, Tony had to ask what that meant.

Then they all got to spend the next twenty-four hours arguing about it.  With all four of them trying to use respectful words and tone, because they didn't actually know each other well enough to yell over something that wasn't a big deal in the grand scheme of protecting the people at that park.  And they did still have that goal agreed on.

Dean wanted to waltz into the county police station and download all the relevant data to a USB drive.  Snatching a uniform and access card from a real cop first, "of course."  Tony had thought it was a joke, until Sam nodded absently from across their last pile of research in Smallville's library.

As a former cop and current notorious criminal, Tony had freaked out a little.

Sam had herded them back to the car when it was clear that the discussion of the pros and cons was going to take a while.  And possibly get loud.

Tony had indeed been loud during the drive back to Gibbs'.  Every reason he could subsequently think of why this was a terrible plan got louder, as though volume would give it more weight.  Or maybe he just got angrier as the brothers continued to brush off his concerns.

Finally he had pulled out the big guns.  "Gibbs won't let you."

Sam and Dean had traded a whole conversation in one glance, probably deciding whether this was worth the can of worms threatening to open.

"We'll convince him," Dean had countered.

No one was more shocked than Tony when Gibbs ended up frowning in disapproval at all three of them like they were idiots.  "Let me get this straight.  You two don't want to waste days of digging through newspapers while something dangerous is loose?"  His glare went straight to Tony.  "And you don't remember rule five?"

"Boss, just because they've broken out of lock-up before--"

"I'm not talking about wasting Dean's impersonation skills."  He finally frowned at the Winchesters like Tony had expected all along.  "That's a God-awful plan if I ever heard one.  I'm talking about you all ignoring your golden-ticket access to law enforcement records."

Sam caught on first.  "Really?  You'd do that for us?"

Then Tony clicked, his shame at being chastised immediately disappeared under a new fear.  "What?!  No!  You can't just run your own unofficial searches!  It's too suspicious."

"Why?"  Gibbs was genuinely baffled.

"Because someone will notice!"  He thought it was obvious.  "They pay attention to stuff like that."

"Who?"

"I don't know.  Someone in the I.T. division, I guess.  Or worse, McGee will see it the next time he unfreezes your computer, and then your own team will be digging."

"It's not going to mean anything to them."

"McGoogle will be panicked that you didn't have him run the search in the first place."

"Actually," Sam dared to interject, "it'd be a bigger problem if we ended up leaving a mess behind us and you were later found to be connected to it electronically.  There's probably no way to wipe a record of your search."

"So stay out of trouble."

Dean scoffed.  "We don't always get a choice."

So around and around they went.  Gibbs and Dean both thought NCIS was the best option.  Dean and Sam still argued that it was very easy to just steal the files.  Sam and Tony didn't see enough reason to give up on the library anyway.

In a tangential effort to convince them all, Dean spent an hour telling the stories of every time he, his brother, or his dad had gotten away after being arrested.  It was just the break they all needed by that point.  Gibbs announced they would discuss things further in the morning, and ordered everyone to bed.

Tony got the last turn in the bathroom, and he came downstairs to find Gibbs lying on the couch already.  "You shouldn't sleep here every single night."

"Okay.  Thanks.  By the way, I really don't want to drag you down with me any deeper than we've already gone.  You get that, right?"

"When have I ever not been ready to risk my job for my team?"

Tony smiled.  "I would never try to talk you out of such recklessness.  But this single maybe-ghost isn't worth it."

"Some things will be."

"You can be our in-case-of-emergency box."

"Or Dean's get-out-of-jail-free card."

"Oh, crap.  Now that would be a career-ender."

Gibbs reached out to swat Tony's knee in protest of the angsty look on his face.  "Just how much longer do you think I'm planning to have a career?  Retiring quietly wouldn't be nearly as much fun as making Vance fire me.  I've managed to cross the line plenty of times on my own, so stow your guilt, DiNozzo.  I take my own risks."

He grinned.  "Fair point," before sobering.  "It's different when I'm not on your six."

"Hey, I'm trusting you to help me get off the grid after you learn a few tricks from those boys."

"You wanna be a Ghostbuster with us?  I'm sure I can get you voted into the club."

"Retirement sounds easier on my joints."

"No kidding.  Those library chairs are even worse than the backseat of cars manufactured before ergonomics was invented."

"I'm already giving you the mattress tonight."

"Is that a hint?  Hey, so are we clear to take agency-spied-on databases off the table tomorrow?"

"Fine.  Quit worrying so much, Tony."

"All right, all right.  'Night."

He made a show of pulling up Gibbs' blanket, and if he got close enough to be head-slapped for it, no one could prove it wasn't unintentional.  Tony was smiling as he took the stairs.

When he heard voices coming quietly from the guest room, he knocked and let himself in.  The boys were kind of cute, stuck together in a queen bed, each as close to the edges as possible.  Sam had on a lamp and a book was in his hand, but it didn't look like it had been opened yet.

"Just wanted to let you know," Tony announced, "Gibbs' offer is no longer an offer.  He'll kick our asses if we don't call him in an emergency, though."

"Good to know," Sam nodded.

"Okay.  Well, goodni--"

"You got a minute?"

"Dean, we're not done discussing it yet."

"We're not parenting him, Sam.  Don't have to present a united front or whatever."

"Lay it on me," Tony encouraged.  He moved all the way into the room, and Dean sat up.

Sam rushed to speak diplomatically before his brother made it difficult.  "We need a plan for settling our disagreements.  It's not our way or the highway, and we don't want to split up when you're only half-trained."

"Except when it *is* our way or the highway," Dean crossed his arms.  "You're the newbie, and this isn't a democracy.  If I say one of us needs to take a risk, then it's gotta happen."

They looked at him expectantly, like it was a simple answer.  "Guys, I don't know what's going to come up.  I plan to follow your lead, I swear.  But that doesn't mean I'll follow it blindly.  And besides, you're supposed to be letting me help you stop getting caught."

"True.  But sometimes we're still gonna have to do illegal things.  Some of it still gets Sam's panties in a twist.  One of these days you're going to get mad over something or other and be ready to ditch us.  What we're saying is that we won't *let* you leave until we think you're safe hunting alone."

"Like you could stop me.  But seriously, I get it.  I've already read your files, remember?  I don't think we'd have gotten this far if I wasn't capable of suspending judgment."

"So you're signing on the bottom line for the next six to twelve months?" Sam checked.

Tony put on a big, fake smile and batted his eyelashes.  "Suuuure.  If you ever actually get around to showing me a ghost."

"Smartass."

"Goodnight, jerk.  Goodnight, bitch," he called fondly as he went to Gibbs' room with its dreamy firm, wide bed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_**Thursday** _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the morning, Tony learned a valuable lesson.

Dean wanted to go hit a police station immediately after breakfast.  Tony spent five minutes reminding him that this case wasn't urgent before calmly and reasonably asking for one more week of newspaper digging before taking such a big risk.  Nodding that he acknowledged it was the wiser plan, Dean agreed to three more days.  And put his foot down on any further negotiation.

Tony should have asked for a month.  He was pretty sure it would have gotten him a week.  It was like Scotty and Captain Kirk, he figured.  Over-inflate the first number so that the second sounded better.  He was going to make it a private rule.

They drove back out to the area, but lucked out by finding a library two hamlets south that had three microfilm machines.  Together they finished all the local newspapers from the 1980s.

"We deserve a big honking medal," Dean insisted when they finally called it quits at 8:00 that night.  "Let's go get drinks."

Sam slouched back when they got into the Impala, letting his head rest with a great view of the non-existent sunroof.  "Dean, we're not going to celebrate coming up blank."

"Movie theater?" Tony suggested without any real enthusiasm.  His head was still dizzy.

"I need a drink," Dean insisted.

"The twenty-plex near Gibbs' house has a bar.  And they bring food to your seat.  Overpriced, but it's pretty good."

"What's playing?" Sam wanted to know.

"Action movie," Dean answered decisively.  "We're going.  I want drinks and shit blowing up.  Good plan, Tony."

"You're welcome.  Just don't flip out when the bill comes."

Sam pulled out his smartphone and soon had their tickets and seats reserved on the back row for the latest comic book adaptation.  Tony had seen it last month when his life was normal, but it wasn't too bad to repeat, even at ten bucks a ticket.  Which reminded him that he was currently a charity case.

"I'm going to pay you guys back," he blurted out a couple minutes later, before realizing it came out of the blue for Sam and Dean.

"Hey, it's not a problem," Dean shrugged.  "Right now you've got us free lodging.  That more than covers a few meals."

"I mean, in the future," Tony clarified.  "I'm not going to mooch off you forever.  I'll find a way to bring in some cash."

"Okay.  Thanks, man."  It sounded like no big deal to Dean, but he knew it was significant enough to have merited a conversation with Sam last week.  So it *was* an issue, and Tony wracked his brain to correlate what he knew about ways to make money anonymously with the experience and skill set he already had.

There was no brilliant flash of inspiration, but he'd let it percolate for a while.

"I guess there's no magic spells for winning lotto numbers," he mused over the Motorhead tape playing in the background.

"Actually, we did that once," Dean grinned.  "But this crazy chick shot Sam and stole them all.  Fun times, though.  Sam managed to set a motel room on fire just by looking at the curtains, and I got to be Batman."

"Shut up, Dean.  You were never Batman.  And it was the heater that caused the fire."

"Woah," said Tony.  "Go back to the winning the lottery part.  Explain."

"So there was this cursed luck charm--"

"That Sam geniusly touched."

"And it gave you ridiculously good luck."

"Then when you're stupid enough to lose it--"

"I didn't lose it!  Bela stole it!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night.  Because then, you got the worst luck ever.  Epically pathetic."

"So it was stupid of *you* to leave me alone."

Dean paused to find an argument for that.  "Well, maybe.  But you would have jinxed the retrieval operation."

Sam shrugged, so Tony guessed it was true.  "But those other hunters were looking for me while I was totally defenseless."

"Hey, I came to the rescue.  Tony, it was awesome.  This guy was holding a gun on Sam, but I threw a pen that went straight up the barrel to jam it.  Batman was jealous."

"Dean had the luck charm at the time," Sam explained.  "We were about to destroy it safely when Bela showed up and shot me.  She was smart-- knew she couldn't hit Dean."

"No way.  She was an idiot for daring to threaten you.  And we were stupid enough to let her walk away.  Should have shot her then."

Sam nodded, which was a surprise.  "Anyway, the charm got burned, but she got out with our winning lotto tickets.  The end."

Tony had to ask, even though he knew the answer.  "Seriously?"  The manner in which they told the tale left no doubt it could have been spontaneously made up between them.

"The moral of the story," Dean grinned, "is to never trust a hot waitress who hits on Sam first."  The brothers hit each other a few times, but quit before it escalated very far.  Dean was still driving.

"So . . . ."  He wasn't sure what to ask first.  The girl had obviously met them again later.  But there was something else they'd left hanging.  "Why were there other hunters after Sam?"

That shut them down immediately, and the car got coldly uncomfortable in a heartbeat.

"Nevermind," Tony backpedaled.  "It's none of my--"

"No," interrupted Sam.  "We've gotta tell you this stuff eventually."  But the silence stretched out.

"We'll be at the movie in twenty minutes," Tony figured.  "Would you rather go back to Gibbs'?  Or is it something you don't want him to know?"

"We don't really care what he knows or thinks," Dean said, surprising Tony.  He'd thought the ex-Marine's respect and esteem was more important to the brothers.  "This is part of the crap that might send you running for the hills.  But I really need the night off, so let's save it for tomorrow."

"That's fine," Tony assured them.  "Just tell me this-- are they *still* looking for Sam?"

"No," Dean answered darkly.  Tony wondered if he should dare to ask if it was because Dean had eliminated the threat.  Permanently.

"There was a big war a few years ago," Sam spoke up.  "Nearly every hunter we knew was a casualty."

Oh.  Well, that answered one question but brought up a hundred more.

After another long minute of uncomfortable silence, Sam twisted around so that he could see Tony's face.  "I'm psychic," he announced with a tangled mix of emotions too confusing to read.

"Sam--"  Dean sighed.

"Not anymore," Sam continued.  "But I was, and hunters feel it's their duty to put down all freaks who aren't normal."

"It's not your fault--"

"I know, dude.  Chill.  But I understand where they were coming from.  Dad did, too."

"Leave him out of it."  Dean's tone was a clear warning.  Sam just turned back to face forward when it was clear Tony wasn't going to do more than raise his eyebrows.

"I'll just, uh," Tony volunteered incoherently.  "I'll try to wrap my head around your superpower tonight, and you can tell me the specifics another time."

"*Ex*-superpower," Sam emphasized, but he smiled gratefully.

Suddenly the car sped up.  "I *really* need to see some shit blow up," said Dean.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_**Friday** _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They found it on Friday afternoon.  Thank God, because Dean had been saying that Sunday was the perfect time to infiltrate the police station, and Tony was still sure that would end badly.

But Sam found an obituary from '77 that said 14-year-old Jacob Turner had been on his bike at the park with a cousin and fell in just the right way to land on his neck.  It was a freak accident, which sort of fit with the latest incidents, and the kid was from North Caroline just visiting an aunt, explaining why none of the locals remembered it.

So they were pretty sure, even without a photo for comparison.  Another half hour on the internet nailed down the parents' names and their current hometown, but their local North Carolina newspaper wasn't online for that year.  Dean swore it would only be a day trip to finish the job now.

While driving back to D.C., Sam and Dean said they'd all head out in the morning (Gibbs included) and hit the library in the parents' town.  With the exact date now, it shouldn't take ten minutes to find the original obit and get the name of the cemetery.  Backup plan was to talk to the Turners themselves if it turned out that they had moved, with a possible repeat trip to another library.  The state was small enough that it would be all settled well before dark, so they could dig up the grave around midnight and crash at a local motel before driving back the next morning.

But Tony had tons of questions.

"If the ghost is so far away from the body, will burning the bones really make it move on?"

"Distance shouldn't matter, but it's possible the spirit could be latched on to something else."

"Then what will we do?"

"Talk to the parents and try to find out what."

"Would you tell them why?  How do you bring up *that* conversation?"

"Usually we just let them think we're crazy."

"What if we don't see the spirit?  How can you know if the park's really safe?  Plus we'd still have to convince Gibbs that the supernatural is real.  Maybe me too, because I'm still only ninety-five percent sure you're *not* crazy."

Dean laughed.  "Okay, slow down.  First, we'll keep an eye on the town's paper for several months to make sure the job's finished.  Sam makes some kind of magic macro on the laptop that pops up when key words on our past cases turn up again.  And if Gibbs doesn't get a good luck, I guess we'll drag him along on the next hunt."

"Or," added Sam thoughtfully, "we could kill two birds with one séance."

"Ugh, I hate that crap.  Plants a big target on our backs for the spirit to beat the crap out of before we're ready to throw the match," Dean complained.

"But it does help us know if it's the right one," Sam argued.

"A séance?" Tony said skeptically, never sure they weren't pranking him sometimes.

"It's a lot less fun than the kind kids do at sleepovers," Dean pouted.

"It lets us talk to the spirit," said Sam.  "Ask him why he's been hurting people at the park."

"Except he's probably too far off his rocker to answer," Dean pointed out.

"And it also makes sure you and Gibbs get the full close encounter."

"What if it attacks us?" Tony wanted to know.

"You are going to be wrapped in swaddling salt like babies and armed to the teeth like Rambo," said Dean adamantly.

"Dude, that didn't even make sense.  Tony, we'll have a ring of salt around you that it can't cross, and give you salt shells and iron."

"I wasn't worried so much as wondering how to proceed," he stated flatly, making no attempt to excuse their insulting reassurances.

"You can Gibbs can distract it, and we'll burn it," Dean grinned.  "Easy as falling off a tombstone."

"That's not what you said sixty seconds ago," Tony's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the change.

"I have to whine about Sam's ideas, or he'd think I got possessed."

"You're such a jerk."

"I'm starting to agree with you, Sam."

"Smartass!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Gibbs was filled in, weapons were checked, and they called it an early night.

Or at least, that was the plan.  Tony was staring at the stripe of light on the ceiling from a streetlamp when Sam came down the stairs.  His steps were nearly silent, but his rummaging in the kitchen wasn't.  Giving up on falling asleep, Tony decided he could use a midnight snack too.

"Sorry.  Did I wake you?" Sam asked when Tony entered the dim light.

"Nah.  Couldn't stop thinking anyway.  What's on the menu?"

"Not much.  We should have shopped today.  There's ice cream in the freezer, but Dean would never let you live that down."

"Convenient that you got the last of everything on your own sandwich."

Sam smiled unrepentant as he took his first bite.  Tony dug through the depleted pantry, emerging triumphantly with microwave popcorn.

"That'll wake everyone up," Sam pointed out.

"Rule eighteen.  I'm covered."  He tore the plastic off and had it going in under three seconds, not a personal record.

"Why are you so into movies?" Sam asked after a minute just to make conversation.

"Take your pick.  Lonely childhood, lack of role models, escape.  Or maybe just because a couch in the dark plus Cary Grant makes pretty much every chick a sure thing."

Sam smiled.  "Jess must have made me watch Casablanca six times."

"See?  After a while you'd be itching to branch out, too."  Tony wondered if it was kosher to talk about her.  "What else did she like to watch?  You can know a lot about someone by their favorite movies."

"Uh, mostly romances.  Especially ones set in Europe, but modern.  I'm not sure I could name any of them, they were all so predictable."

"Was *she*?"

"Yeah, that was part of her appeal," he admitted.  "Predictably sweet and normal.  Everything I wanted at the time."

"What did she see in you?"  Tony tried to keep it light, not wanting to upset Sam if it was too painful.  But he figured that it was several years ago and the young man probably had too few people to share his good memories with.

"She saw . . . the smart and confident guy I wanted her to see," he answered with a rueful twist to his mouth.  "Not the real me."

"That *is* the real you," Tony felt compelled to argue.  "I'd describe you that way."

"You've known me less than two weeks.  And lucky for you, it wasn't last year, or three years ago.  Or six years ago.  I was a mess."

"Extenuating circumstances, I'm sure."

"Maybe," Sam conceded as the microwave dinged and Tony pulled out his treat.

Only to have it snatched away by the sneakier Winchester.

"Hey!  Get your own!"

"Come on, are you really gonna eat the whole bag?  Get a bowl or somethin'.  I'll share."

Tony glared, but he got out a big mixing bowl and stared challengingly as he put it on the table.

Dean laughed.  "Honest, officer.  I swear I wasn't lyin'!"  He opened the bag up and poured it out before grabbing a huge handful to inhale and taking the seat next to his brother, whose sandwich was nearly gone.

"Suwaisasain hesamehf?"

"Huh?" Tony laughed.

"He wants to know what I was telling you about how messed up I used to be."

"Wow, how many languages do you speak?"

"Vewy fuwwy," Dean said.  "Answeh me."

"It's too long for a bedtime story," Sam deflected.

"How about just chapter one?" Tony suggested.  "I solemnly swear not to critique it before the end.  Or chapter two, I guess, since you already told us about getting the special gun with your dad."

Sam looked at Dean, who shrugged.  "It's your call."

"Yeah, okay.  Now's fine."  He shifted in his chair and ate his last bite before starting.  "But there's no 'once upon a time' or 'happily ever after,' I'm warning you."

Dean opened his mouth, but visibly stopped himself from saying anything.  Sam was staring at the crumbs on his plate, so Tony patiently ate more popcorn.

"I had my first psychic vision of the future in the summer of 2005.  It was just a dream, like a regular nightmare.  Perfectly explainable, I thought."

When he didn't go on, Tony prompted, "What'd you see?"

"Jess.  In a fire.  On the ceiling."

"Oh my God," Tony realized.  "How long was that before it really happened?"

"Just a few months.  I saw it every couple of weeks, but nightmares are like that.  You know?"

"Yeah," was all Tony could say.

"I thought it was just my imagination, knowing what had happened to our mom."

"Of course," nodded Tony.  He glanced at Dean and could tell this recitation was equally hard on him as it was on his brother.

"The second vision . . . .  It was several months later.  A woman I didn't know being attached by something in her house.  I saw it three times before I started to wonder if it was real.  The house was vaguely familiar, like when you know you're forgetting something.  After I saw it again, I tried sketching it.  Finally it clicked that it matched the house in my baby pictures."

"You mean the one where your mom . . . ?"

"Where she was killed, yes.  So I had to go check it out, which meant telling Dean why, and scaring the hell out of him."

"I've never been scared of you, bitch."  The expected retort was half-hearted, and Sam didn't even look up.

"We went, and the woman who answered the door was the one I had seen.  Long story short, we got rid of a poltergeist, and we found out that my visions were real."

A few quiet seconds went by before Dean spoke up to explain something.  "There's nothing inherently wrong with being psychic.  All hunters have appreciated a psychic's help on a case or two.  But Sam started having visions when he was awake, and it wasn't like anything we'd heard of before."

"They hurt," Sam said bluntly.  "Like getting whacked with a two-by-four."

"Scared the shit out of me," Dean didn't hesitate to admit.

"The next ones were of people dying, all in the same family.  Finally we figured out who was killing them.  Max Miller was telekinetic-- could move objects with his mind.  And he . . . .  We found out he was born the same year as me, and his birth mother died . . . exactly like mine."

Tony's jaw dropped.  "Holy crap," he said quietly as he made the next logical assumption, that their mothers were somehow linked to the mind powers.

Dean snorted.  "*Un*holy, as it turned out."

"We met the demon a few months later.  When we convinced Dad to let us hunt it together, he told us almost everything.  Usually he was all about need-to-know.  Trying to shelter us as much as he still could, growing up.  I guess.  But he'd caught the demon's trail for the first time in twenty years, so he was . . . enthusiastic about the chance to catch it.  Especially after we got the Colt."

"Dad left out the most important part, of course," Dean shook his head in exasperation.  "The demon was going after babies, not mothers-- they were just in the way.  It had some kind of plan for the kids."

Silence fell as Sam and Dean waited to see if Tony understood, not wanting to voice it themselves.

"Are you saying that the demon gave Sam and the other guy their mind powers?"

Dean nodded and Sam sighed.  "We met more kids like me, later.  Tracked down the few that we could.  They could all do something unnatural."

"Dad didn't share that at the time, even though we should have clued in when he wasn't terribly shocked when we told him about Sam's visions.  When he spent a year keeping us away from it.  But anyway, we went after it."

When the tale didn't continue, Tony spoke up again.  "I take it that didn't go well?" he asked gently.

Sam finally looked up, straight at his brother.  "It possessed Dad and tried to kill Dean, and I wasted another bullet in the Colt."

"It wasn't a waste!  Got it to leave Dad."

"But it wasn't a fatal shot-- didn't kill it.  And we all ended up in the hospital when another demon rammed our car."

"With a semi," Dean growled.  "That bastard totaled my baby."

"And did worse to you."  Sam's voice was angry too.  "The doctors said you wouldn't make it."  They stared at each other for a moment, simultaneously seeking and giving reassurance.  It was almost a chick flick moment, and Tony wondered if he should call them on it in order to change the mood.

"By the way, that was the first time I met Tessa the reaper," Dean said casually, obviously having the same thought to lighten things up.

"You didn't go with her, I assume?  Surely you didn't want to be a ghost."

"Last minute reprieve from the governor," Dean shrugged, but it was full of tension.  "I was ready to go, but then I woke up."

"And Dad said his goodbyes."  Sam's voice was flat, and he was staring at the table again.  "Then he hit the floor."

Re-enter the awkward silence.

Tony had lots of questions, but it was clear that the boys weren't at their best.  He decided to leave them unspoken, since it wasn't really his business after all.  Both Winchesters had said they were planning to tell him the rest someday, so that was enough to know.

He cleared his throat.  "To be continued," he suggested casually, ignoring the wet sheen in Sam's eyes and Dean's almost-vacant stare.  Tony stood up.  "Come on, guys.  Let's get some sleep."

Sam nodded and left the room without even moving his dirty plate from the table.

Dean grabbed it and the empty popcorn bowl, rinsing them briefly in the sink.  When he finished, he reached out to put a hand on Tony's shoulder and look him in the eyes.

"Thank you."

"For what?" he asked, surprised.

"Humoring our emotional baggage," Dean tried for levity, awkwardly moving a few feet away.

"Have either of you told anyone all this before?"

Dean winced.  "Just one.  Kind of two.  Another knew it kind of from a third party.  But they're all dead now.  And no, we've never tried to explain it all to a civilian before.  You're taking it better than I'd hoped.  So far, at least.  We haven't gotten to the really crazy stuff yet."

"Crazier than a demon trying to change your baby brother's destiny?  I'm going to have an ulcer by the time you finish, aren't I?"

"You should try the PTSD," Dean tried to joke.

"Hey, seriously.  I'm . . . honored that you trust me so much.  Really."  Getting a glare in return, Tony threw up his hands defensively.  "Not a chick flick moment!  I swear!  They don't cover shit this heavy anyway.  But I was thinking about how I ought to return the favor.  Tell Sam, especially, about the girl whose life I ruined because I didn't tell her enough.  You know, keep him from feeling like the only one with mistakes in his past."

Dean's eyebrows raised and he slowly nodded.  "Yeah.  I think he'd appreciate that.  But you don't have to keep score."

"I know.  But it might be good for me, too."

"Say that to Sam more convincingly, make him buy it, and I'll let you drive my baby . . . around the block."

Tony laughed.  "You really are a jerk."

"Perfection takes practice," Dean assured as he headed for the stairs.

Laying back on the couch, Tony tried not to dream about anything.  He almost succeeded.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	8. Chapter 8

_**Saturday** _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The map said it was five hours down Highway 95, so they left Gibbs' house at 0600.  Sam dared to suggest they save time by not stopping at the diner for coffee, but Dean correctly interpreted Gibbs' lack of reply to mean the subject wasn't up for debate.  Tony's hair hadn't been dyed in several days, leaving his beard well-grown but badly frosted-- and his mood self-conscious and grumpy-- as they all piled into the Winchesters' Impala.

Dean handed Tony the shoebox of cassette tapes as consolation.  Tony then mulled over the two dozen choices until Gibbs finally handed everyone a tall, steaming cup of caffeine.  He sat the box on the seat between them so both hands were available to pour sugar into his drink until it tasted even better than it smelled.  When that task was finished, he pulled out Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" to dangle over the front seat, where Sam put it into the deck.

Gibbs turned the box around and leisurely rifled through the contents to catalog the choices for later.

"The 'Journey' album is Sam's."

Everyone ignored Dean's attempt at humor, and the car remained pleasantly free of conversation for the next two hours.  The mellow music fit well with the sun rising over the landscape, and for a moment Tony could see that the hunting lifestyle wasn't without a few perks.  He imagined what it must have been like for the boys to have lived this way for so many years: frequently on the road, but with a good feeling of anticipation . . . and a perfect soundtrack.

When they pulled into the ramshackle gas station, Tony cringed and made a note to pick up some hand sanitizer along with the snacks.  He exchanged a questioning-their-sanity look with Gibbs, who just shrugged.  Dean and Sam were already arguing over whose turn it was to fill the tank and who got to go inside and pick the candy.

"I bet everything on these shelves expired ten years ago," Tony muttered as he opened the car door to get out.

"Hey," Dean protested, halting Tony before he stood up.  "You think it's easy to find places without security cameras or that won't ask for I.D. to match a credit card?"  Sam used the distraction to hoof it inside, leaving Dean to pump the gas.

Tony dropped his head in shame, shaking it in exasperation at himself for forgetting.  Even more than the Winchesters, he needed to stay off the radar personally.  Clearly he ought to be taking that threat much more seriously.  Sitting back up straight, he caught Dean's eye and nodded his thanks before heading to find the men's room.  Or out-house, more likely.

It was as disgusting as he'd feared.  Tony didn't bother washing his hands, focusing instead on not touching any surfaces in the first place.  He figured a place like this would have alcohol in some form or another, so he'd sterilize later.

Walking into the small cinderblock building, he was relieved to see that they at least had refrigerated shelves and drinks.  Tony found himself a one-liter plastic bottle of Coke that should provide him with enough sugar for the rest of the day, then he grabbed up a whole box of granola bars and a supersize bag of pretzels.  If no one else was planning to get stocked up for the afternoon, he'd have some left to share.

Gibbs was standing over by the back wall, already sipping another cup of coffee.  Moving to see what had caught the man's attention, Tony smiled to see it was a smattering a cassette tapes for sale next to a much-larger selection of CDs and miscellaneous auto accessories.  "Anything good?" he asked.

"The boys have a decent ear," Gibbs admitted.  "I listened to half of their tapes in high school."

"Pretty sure you listened to albums on vinyl," Tony teased.

"Nope," Gibbs smirked.  "My dad hated anything with an electric guitar.  I had to buy 8-tracks and listen to them out in my truck."

Tony's expression suddenly fell.  "Shit," he exclaimed.  "I can't even get to my music collection anymore.  I spent *hours* ripping all those CDs and even had it all backed up on this external drive McGee gave me a few years ago.  It was all on my phone, too, and that bastard, shifty, lunatic monster couldn't even leave me that!"

Gibbs grabbed his arm tight.  "Calm down before you make a scene."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony waved him off, but back at a normal volume.  "I'm just . . . I keep thinking of more and more things that I'm going to miss.  The list keeps growing," he pouted.

"I'm sure that Sam can download your whole collection illegally," his former boss rolled his eyes and let go of Tony.

"God, I hope so.  You know, we're lucky they have a thing for classic rock.  We could be trapped in their car with a top-40 pop music station for hours."

Gibbs nodded and turned back to the tapes for sale.  "But it wouldn't hurt to help them expand their horizons."

"Hey, I recognize that mischievous look.  I think I've seen it maybe twice times in the last twelve years.  You're not gonna make us listen to Barry White or something just to see them squirm?"

Smiling a full grin, Gibbs reached out and pulled a tape off the shelf and handed it to Tony.

By now, Dean was at the register paying, not more than thirty feet away, so Tony had to struggle not to laugh out loud and tip him off.  "Did you see that movie a couple years ago?  Meryl Streep can really sing."

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on!  It broke all kinds of sales records!  You can't possibly have missed it even if you only watched the news."

"What the hell are you talking about, DiNozzo?"

"Nuh-uh, you can't use that name in public.  But, seriously?  You haven't heard of Mamma Mia?"

"It's a movie now?"

"A *musical*, Gibbs."

"About ABBA?"

"No, it's about a daughter getting married and three guys who--"

"What?  Then why did you even bring it up?"  Gibbs was about to move past 'exasperated' and into 'pissed.'

"Be*cause* they sing ABBA's songs in it!  That's what makes it a musical," Tony laughed.

"With Meryl Streep singing?"

"She was hot, Gibbs.  Really.  You'd like it.  Except it's sort of a chick-flick.  But the funny kind."

"Whatever you say, Tony."  Gibbs' patronizing was so insulting, it was genius.  "Let's pick a couple others and spring ABBA on them last."

"They didn't have any Beatles," Tony pointed out.

"Good catch.  Chicago either."  They both set their drinks down and dug through the unordered shelves.

Tony practically crowed in triumph as he picked one up and showed it off.  "I *love* this one!"

They were both grinning like loons when Dean came up behind them.  "You two look like kids in a candy store.  What the hell are you giggling about?"

Handing over his latest find, Tony waited for Dean to join in their enthusiasm and nostalgia.  Sure enough, it made the younger man smile, too.

"I've only heard track six before, but it's awesome, so I guess this'll be okay."

"Oh my God," Tony's jaw dropped.  "How can you not have heard this album?  It's like the number two best selling of all time."

"Well, if it's that great, then what is it doing on a clearance rack?  And why don't they play the other tracks on the radio?" he challenged.

Gibbs and Tony both shrugged their ignorance.  "Maybe because the songs are so long?"

"I'll try anything once," Dean warned, "but if I'm not impressed, then it's going home with Gibbs."

"That's fair," agreed Tony, as Sam walked up to join them.

"So what else you got?" Dean sighed and looked braced for a punch.

"Chicago II and Abbey Road."  Gibbs held them up expecting a sigh of relief or indifference.

He definitely didn't expect Dean's eyes to flare wide in a split-second of speechlessness before he walked away with a "Whatever!" called behind.

They looked to Sam in confusion.  "Um, he's . . . Well . . . ," he sighed.  "Long story short, The Beatles were our mom's favorite band, so Dad would run hot and cold about having them in the car.  Most of the time, he'd change the radio station when one came on, but every few years he'd suddenly buy all their albums and make us listen to nothing else for a month.  Then he'd have a bad night and get drunk and trash the tapes in some dramatic-- or cathartic-- way.  So, yeah . . . .  Dean will probably just find some excuse not to play that if you buy it."

Shaking his head, Gibbs put it back on the shelf.  Tony didn't know what to say either, so they stood there awkwardly shuffling their feet.

Finally Sam shrugged and sort-of smiled before leaving the store.

"Grab your stuff," Gibbs instructed.  "Put it on the counter and I'll bring it out in a minute.  Don't let the cashier get a good look at you."

It wasn't *that* risky, of course.  Tony's chance of being recognized was slim to none with the piercings and scruffy blonde hair, but he appreciated Gibbs giving him an excuse for not drawing attention to his empty pockets.  For not even letting him need to ask for the handout.

Gibbs even raised his eyebrows to pretend surprise when Tony gave him a grateful look.  Because inside that bastard was a real teddy bear, but Tony would take that secret to his grave.

He gathered up his Coke, snacks, and cassette, taking them to the register before hunting down that bottle of hand sanitizer and adding it to the pile before going back to the car.  The brothers had already sat down and were starting to open their drinks and food wrappers.  Tony used the extra time to stretch his muscles before they got back on the road.  He was definitely getting too old for long road trips.

It took Gibbs a little longer than it should have, but soon the Impala was revving up and pulling onto the street.  Digging in the plastic sack that Gibbs had set between them, Tony found his new tape and passed it to Sam.

"Bat Out of Hell?" Sam chuckled, earning a swat from Dean.  He put it in anyway, leaving Tony and Gibbs to wonder what that exchange was all about before the opening clash of piano and guitar started up.

One and a half minutes later, Dean nodded decisively.  "Yeah!" he hollered in approving response to the wailing electric solo.  Of course, when the tempo slowed and the piano was all that was left to back up Meat Loaf's opening verse, he sent a warning glance at Tony in the rearview mirror.

"Turn it up!" Tony insisted.

"Wait a sec," Sam interrupted over the music a heartbeat later when his lightbulb clicked.  "Dean, have you never heard this before?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh great," his brother griped.  "Is this some kind of emo anthem?"

"Dude, trust me, this could be your theme song," Sam shook his head.  "Hold on, let me pull up the lyrics on my phone."

**And down in the tunnel where the deadly are rising, oh I swear I saw a young boy down in the gutter.  He was starting to foam in the heat.**

"Sounds more like it's about Tony," Dean smirked.  "You know, that first impression is very important.  Might ought to work on that--"

"Shut up, Dean.  Here," Sam handed over his phone and put one hand on the wheel while his brother was reading.

"Just pull over," Gibbs sighed in exasperation.  "This song is like twelve minutes long."

"I can read faster than that, old man," Dean argued absently, never easing up on the gas.  Just then the chorus started, and by the time it finished, the phone and wheel had been re-exchanged.

Dean was grinning.  "Why the hell didn't you buy me this before, Sam?  It's like this Meat Loaf guy was my own personal prophet."

"His real name is Michael Aday, but Jim Steinman wrote all the songs," Tony pointed out.

"Too bad you'll never get to show off your pop culture trivia on a game show now, DiNozzo," said Gibbs with a smug tone.

Tony threw a pretzel at his head.

"Hey!" Dean barked indignantly.  "You get crumbs on my baby and you'll get to detail the whole interior tomorrow."  They settled down as the music shifted into the bridge.

**And I know that I'm damned if I never get out, and maybe I'm damned if I do.  But with every other beat I got left in my heart, you know I'd rather be damned with you.  Well if I gotta be damned, you know I wanna be damned dancing through the night with you.**

"I didn't know you hadn't heard this," Sam told his brother quietly, but not hiding his words from the back seat.  "And I erased it off my iPod after . . . after what happened in 2007.  It just . . . hit too close to home."

They exchanged glances that made Tony wonder how much more of their history he still didn't know, if they weren't even up to 2007.

Dean shot his arm over at Sam like always, but instead of a hit, it was a manly "buck up" pat on the shoulder.

"Well, it's still a cool song," Dean smiled before the chorus restarted, when he tried to join in on the first line despite not getting any of the notes right.  "Like a bat out of hell, I'll be gone when the morning comes!"  At the top of his lungs.

Tony threw a few handfuls of pretzels at the source of the noise, but they didn't deter Dean, who just picked them up off his lap and ate them.

When the music segued into a motorcycle engine over the drum solo, Dean upped their speed and let out a whoop.

Gibbs nudged Tony and leaned in to say, "Think he'll like my tape this much?"  They laughed.

Sam eyed them suspiciously.  "You didn't buy the second album too, did you?"

"Second what album?" Gibbs asked.

Tony rolled his eyes.  "Bat Out of Hell 2.  It came out in the early nineties."

"Is it any good?"

"Yeah, but not *this* good," Tony lamented.

The opening saxophone on track 2 made Dean wrinkle his nose.  "What year is this from?" he asked.

"Seventy-seven," Gibbs answered promptly.  "Shannon gave it to me on my first shore leave with her."

Tony had known his boss for several years before he even heard her name, so he was very surprised to hear it now.  But also pleased.  Maybe that wound was finally healing.

Dean snickered.  "She must have been a real firecracker if she gave you some 'paradise by the dashboard light'."  He grinned at his own pun.

Wincing, Tony quickly looked at Gibbs to see the reaction.  Before he could wrap his brain around how bad it would probably be, Gibbs laughed.  Laughed!

"She was a redhead," Gibbs agreed.  "Firecracker is a good description."

They listened without further commentary through the rest of that song and into the next.

About halfway through "Heaven Can Wait," Sam's head thunked gently against his window, drawing Tony's attention back inside the car.  He couldn't see Sam's face, but Dean's was frowning.  Then Tony noticed how his hands were gripping the wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

He waited until the second verse finished before speaking up.  **I got a taste of paradise.  That's all I really need to make me stay.  I got a taste of paradise, if I had it any sooner you know, you know I never would have run away from my home.**  "We can listen to something else, guys."

Dean looked at Sam as if to make the same offer.  "It's okay," said a flat, emotionless voice slightly muffled by the glass.

The chorus started again, and Dean sighed.  "This just reminds us of a friend," he explained.

As the music repeated a minute later, Sam added, "We thought he had died about a year ago, but last month he turned up . . . .  And now he's in a mental institution because . . . well, he sort of went crazy.  So it's . . . all a real mess.  We didn't want to leave him there, but . . . ."

"There was no other choice," Dean told Sam, for what sounded like the hundredth time.

"Yeah," Sam agreed sadly.

Fortunately the next song was upbeat and free of depressing reminders.  When it finished and the tape popped out, Dean gave a little "Hell, yeah!" as he turned it over to the B side.

A minute later he was shaking his head again.  "Too many ballads.  An album should only have one or two, tops."

Tony frowned as he listened to the words he hadn't heard in years.  **I can't lie, I can't tell you that I'm somethin' I'm not.  No matter how I try, I'll never be able to give you somethin', somethin' that I just haven't got.  I want you, I need you, but there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you.  Now don't be sad, 'cause two out of three ain't bad.**

Well that sucks, he thought.  Now the boys have got me trying to mix music with real life, and this one is too much like that last conversation with Jeanne.  Probably also exactly like Gibbs' divorce conversations went with all three ex-wives.  Maybe we should just talk shop instead.

But before he could think of a way to bring it up without being too obvious, the track was over.

And "Paradise" started up.

Who in their right mind would want to turn *that* off?

Everyone was finally smiling.  Tony did a double take when he glanced over at Gibbs and saw his lips twitched up in a way he'd never seen before.

He continued to sneak surreptitious peeks as the music went on.  It got to the baseball segment before Tony was sure.

"You did *not*?!" he burst out before his brain could snatch the words back.

Dean and Sam looked back extremely curiously.

Now *this* face, Tony knew.  It was Gibbs' I'm-trying-not-to-laugh expression.  "Wouldn't you like to know," his ex-boss taunted.

"Oh my God!  That's a 'yes', Gibbs!"  Tony positively giggled with awe and glee.

"Was there a question?" Dean asked Sam in confusion.

His brother had a better view of the back seat, and the slight blush on Gibbs' face was the clue.  "I think Tony asked if, uh, if Gibbs scored a home run during that shore leave."

Tony shook his head that Sam didn't get it.  "Their *first* home run," he corrected with a stage whisper.

The headslap didn't even make him blink.

The Winchesters laughed, but more at Tony than at Gibbs.  They had no idea how amazing it was to learn something personal about the gruff NCIS agent.  How completely private and closed-off Gibbs was with everyone after his last divorce.  But there was no Tim or Ziva to brag to anymore, no Abby to share his enthusiasm for all things Gibbs-related.  The thought was like a bucket of water on his joy, and he stayed silent while the song finished.

"You know," said Dean before the next song started, "that was Dad's best contribution to my sex education."

"What?" scoffed Sam.

"When I was thirteen, the school had a whole special assembly for our grade and the health teacher did his damnedest to make sex boring.   Went over all the risks and safe sex, blah blah blah, and concluded with how great abstinence was.  You know?"  They nodded at having been through similar experiences.  "So Dad had signed some permission slip first and actually remembered the date.  When we got home, he sent you off to do some chore."  Dean was talking over the last track, but no one seemed to mind.  "He turned on the radio, told me to sit down, then called the station and asked the D.J. to play this song.  Even told the guy that it was because his son had sat through sex ed that afternoon at school.  I was praying that they wouldn't air the whole call and that no one would recognize Dad's voice if they did.  Anyway, he quizzed me a little while we waited, to find out if I'd payed attention, I guess.  Then the song came on.  I'd never heard it before, and it was damn awkward sitting next to my dad!" he laughed.

"Then when it was over, he told me that sex was *exactly* like that song.  Fun and exciting . . . and with a catch.  That girls didn't want sex, they wanted love.  And then he went on and on about how Winchesters weren't perfect, but we damn well keep our promises, and if I ever told some girl that I would stay with her, then he would just leave me behind and never take me hunting again."

Sam burst out laughing.  "Now *that* was effective!  No wonder you have a commitment phobia!"

"Hey!" Dean protested.  "I'm committed to my job."

"And that finally explains it.  I'd always wondered."

"Huh?  Wondered what?"

"Why you didn't hit *your* first home run until you were eighteen!" Sam announced triumphantly, loving the opportunity to legitimately tease his brother.

"That *you* knew of," Dean countered angrily.  "I didn't think that you could handle the truth when you were eleven."

"Yeah, right," Sam smiled, still sure of himself.

"Apparently my reputation at -- what? half a dozen? -- high schools in this country never trickled down to your middle school hallways."

"What, that James Dean had been reincarnated and just got out of juvie and carried a gun in his backpack?  Because the rest of your rap was so accurate?"

Tony laughed at the idea of Dean Winchester sitting in high school like a regular kid . . . who killed monsters and ghosts on the weekends.  Dean glared at him in the mirror, and Tony put up his hands in protest.  "Hey, don't look at me.  I went to military school.  We didn't even get to *look* at a girl for months at a time.  But *college*!  God, I *loved* college.  My frat gave me the *best* nickname," he trailed off dreamily.

That seemed to calm Dean down, making his virginity age less of an affront to his perceived masculinity.

"For Cryin' Out Loud" ended dramatically, and the tape kept going for a while.  Tony had nearly forgotten what it was like to hear an album that wasn't evenly divided in two.  His Corvette had a tape deck when he first bought it, but he'd upgraded that to a CD player within a few months.

Gibbs found the Chicago II cassette and tossed it into Sam's lap, who remembered to fast-forward to the end before taking Meat Loaf out.  "Movin' In" fired up and the jazz-rock sounds took over the car.

Three tracks later, Dean got bored with "Poem for the People" and cleared his throat.  "So . . . who wants to hear the awesome story of the first time we met Loki?"

"You have *good* stories, too?" Tony asked cheekily.

"Well, there's also the one about the time we saved a federal agent from death by starvation in a sewer."

And that earned Dean a *real* headslap.  The kind that could actually make your ears ring.  It sent the Impala into a rough shake, but she stayed in their lane.  "Son of a bitch!" the driver complained, although he was astute enough not to argue that the reprimand wasn't deserved.

Sam was scowling at Dean too, in disapproval of his brother's bad taste.  When Dean didn't have anything to say, Sam filled the gap.  "Loki was the Norse god of mischief.  We didn't have a clue what it was we were hunting, but we found the case when a college professor was pushed from his third-story office with no clues.  Turned out, the guy had been a real sleaze, and the janitor who saw him last said he was taking a pretty co-ed upstairs late at night.  There was a campus legend about the building being haunted, but that turned out to be fake.  So when we came up empty, we were ready to leave town.  Then--"

"But friggin' *aliens* abducted a kid right off the lawn!" Dean interrupted, chuckling.  Sam started to protest, but changed his mind and waved it off.  "Left a crop circle and everything."

"It wasn't a crop circle!  That's when actual *crops* get flattened, not freshly mown grass.  It was like, like . . . an energy blast radius or something.  A big circle where the grass was just *gone.*"

"Glad you can give us all the correct scientific terms, college boy."

Surprisingly, that made Sam laugh.  "So then we interviewed the boy who said he'd been abducted, and he was *so* freaked."

"How is that funny?" Gibbs frowned.

"Because the aliens didn't *hurt* him," Dean grinned.  "They just *humiliated* him.  Started with the always-popular anal probe and then moved on to-- get this!-- slow dancing."

Tony blinked, sure he must have misheard.  "Slow dancing?"

"Complete with disco ball and corny music!"

"I assume the aliens weren't real?" Gibbs put in dryly.

"We didn't think so," Sam explained, "but we weren't sure *what* was going on.  The kid sure wasn't faking it."

"But then we talked to one of his frat brothers who told us that the guy had been in charge of pledge week that year.  Apparently he really got off on putting them through hell."

"So they were getting some payback?" Tony guessed.

"Someone was, but it wasn't them."

"Loki," Tony figured.

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean smiled.  "Don't get ahead.  Me and Sam were really scratching our heads.  And driving each other up the walls.  First he let the air out of my baby's tires and wouldn't 'fess up."

"So Dean hid my laptop and wouldn't give it back."  Instead of trading punches, they were eyeing each other with amusement.  "But then some other guy got dragged down in the sewer and half-eaten alive.  Right next to the same building on campus."

"Kid you not: it was an alligator in the sewer!  *And* it turned out that the vic was a scientist who tested crap on animals.  Now we were coming up totally blank on a supernatural creature or spirit who could be an alligator, aliens, and a pretty girl.  So we called our friend Bobby-- who was a hunter genius-- and he knew right away that it was a trickster.  Who was also messing with *us* through the car and computer."

"So how did you stop it, if it could turn into anything?"

"Oh, no.  It was worse.  He didn't change *himself*, he actually created stuff out of thin air.  Real as you or me."

Tony and Gibbs both looked at Dean like he was trying to sell them a bridge in Brooklyn.

Sam tried to back him up.  "Seriously.  He even made some strippers to distract Dean while he escaped, and those girls were really kicking Dean's ass when I--"

"Oh, come on!  You didn't have to tell that part!  Besides, you skipped some stuff.  First, we had to I.D. who was the trickster.  Supposedly they also love candy, and there was only one guy at ground zero who fit.  The janitor."

"Bobby said a stake would kill it, but we had to catch him by surprise.  Tried, but he saw us coming, turned the strippers on Dean, and sicced a huge dude with a chainsaw on me and Bobby."

"But we got him in the end."

"Not really."

"Quit jumping ahead!"

"We thought that we killed him, but even that was just a trick.  Turned out that he was . . . something else.  Could only be killed with a different weapon.  It was probably a year later when we ran into him again."

"Well, I'm hooked," Tony shrugged.  "What happened then?"

"Uh . . . that's a . . . much more complicated mess," Dean stumbled.

"Wouldn't make sense without hearing a lot of other stuff first," Sam muttered.

"Enough fish stories for now, boys."  Gibbs was too nonchalant, and it made Tony worried about what he would say next.  "Why don't you let DiNozzo have a turn?  He can tell you about the time he tried to flirt with a witness and ended up kissing the suspect."

"Woah, woah!  Wait a minute there--"

"Who was a drag queen."

Over the boys' raucous laughter, Tony protested.  "No one else knew she was a he."  It made no difference, and there may or may not have been some pouting going on.

"So tell it your way, DiNozzo," Gibbs smirked.

Tony most certainly did.

Followed up by the challenge for Gibbs to explain himself for "the time I had to kiss *you*, damn it."  He got himself a mild headslap for that, and the Winchesters got to hear a tale void of any humor.

Dean nodded in understanding when it finished.  "Laugh or cry, you gotta deal somehow.  Thank God I've never had to give Sam CPR.  Trauma like that, I'd drink myself to an early grave."

Sam hit him, of course.  "That's not funny."

"Duh, that's my point."

"Maybe I should share a few times you cried instead of laughed."

"If I did, I'm sure it was totally called for, and I looked very manly doing it.  Besides, you know I'd have to get you back, bitch."

"Jerk."  It was like some kind of magic signal that an argument was over.  "Where's the next tape?" Sam asked the back seat.  Chicago had run out in the middle of Gibbs' turn at show and tell.  The man's words were concise, but he seemed compelled to list every single detail relevant to the case.

It was just the opportunity Gibbs and Tony had been waiting for.  The cassette was found and removed from its case before getting passed to Sam, who didn't bother to glance at it before inserting it.

Tony couldn't see Sam's face, so he watched Dean closely as the tape started.  He was frowning slightly, clearly trying to recognize the music but failing.

Then the synthesizer kicked in.

"What the hell *is* this?!" he demanded, expression a mix of pain and indignation.

Gibbs and Tony cracked up, exchanging a high five.  Dean reached over to pop the tape out, but Gibbs stopped him with a quick lunge forward to grab his wrist.

"Nope.  You said you'd try anything once."

Dean looked constipated at swallowing his own words.  "That was when I thought you had decent taste.  Who the hell is *this*?  Is this *disco*?!" he yelled when the vocals started.

"I think it's ABBA," Sam guessed.

"Greatest Hits Volume Two," confirmed Tony.  "They're like the sixth best-selling band of all time, you know."

"Give it a chance," Gibbs insisted.  "They're catchy."

Sam pulled out his phone to google ABBA, while "Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie" made the Impala's speed feel dangerously fast.  Or maybe that was just Dean trying to cover the last hour in half the time.

"Sorry, Tony.  They're actually number eight."

"Hey, I was really close!"

"Beatles, Elvis, Michael Jackson," Sam was reading the list, "Madonna, Elton, Zeppelin, Queen, and then ABBA.  Wow, they're higher than the Stones and U2."

Meanwhile, Dean was listening to the lyrics.  "Okay, I like this chick.  She can have me after midnight.  I assume she's hot-- or *was*?"

"Oh, yeah," the passengers chorused.

Dean got fed up with the next song, and they argued the definition of "classic" to fill the remainder of the journey.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At long last they pulled into the medium-size city of Halifax, North Carolina.  Sam swore he could be in and out of the library in ten minutes max, so Dean dropped him off at the front with a look at his watch and a challenging smirk.  He then slowly moved the Impala across the parking lot to the farthest space with a line of sight to the door . . . nearly a hundred yards away.

Tony shook his head at Dean's not-technically-cheating ploy to make his brother's life harder.  "You know he's going to repay the favor, so why bother?"

"Who says this isn't my revenge for the last trick *he* pulled?"  But Dean's phone started ringing before he could say more.  It was Sam, who of course found his own way to cheat at their current game.

"Good news, I assume?" Dean answered the call.  The reply wasn't loud enough for anyone else to hear, but Dean nodded and restarted the engine.  "Lunchtime!" he declared before he hung up and pulled the car back up to the building.

Sam walked out and reached them the very instant the Impala came to a complete stop, but if the synchronized timing was unusual, he didn't show it.  Instead he announced, "It's here," as he buckled in, clearly not expecting that Dean would have already been courteous enough to share that important information with their guests.

"Which cemetery?" his brother demanded as they pulled back onto the street.

"The main one," Sam sighed.

"Damn it."  Dean sounded resigned rather than angry.

"Why?" asked Tony when no one else seemed curious.

Gibbs already knew this one.  "There could be workers digging there tonight."

"And landscapers a couple hours before dawn," Sam added.

"Midnight is probably still clear," Dean hoped.  He caught sight of some local hole-in-the-wall seafood restaurant and pulled in.  "We'll just have to be careful.  Not make too much noise.  Easy as pie with a séance, time restraints, and shotguns for the two novices."

Gibbs shot him a sharp look.  "We're assets in this, not liabilities," he threatened.

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Dean, shifting into park and turning off the engine.  "Ducks to water, and stuff.  Just don't come cryin' to me when your government training gets you killed."

"Dean!"  That was Sam's cue to smack his brother in exasperation.

They walked inside and stood in line to place their orders.  Nearly everything was fried, and the heavy smell filled the air promisingly.  Only once they were sitting at a far table in relative privacy did Dean pick up the conversational thread again.

"Seriously, Sam.  I'd like to see how they handle it the first time a ghost sticks an arm in their chest and starts pulling on some internal organ."

Sam just shot his brother a look that could believably cause spontaneous human combustion.

"Or not," Dean shrugged.

Tony's eyebrows went up, not sure how serious they were.  "That sounds . . . quickly fatal," he fished.

"Shotguns are no good at close range," Gibbs nodded in understanding.  "So then what?  You keep a salt shaker in your pocket?"

Dean grinned and said, "Improvise, or wait for your brother to bail you out."

"And hope he's not still pissed about the last prank you pulled," Sam tacked on meaningfully.

"Food's here," Tony announced, seeing the employee on her way with a big tray and innocent ears that didn't need to catch any part of the current topic.

They got everyone's baskets and sides sorted out before falling silent for a good ten minutes of tastebud appreciation.

"We should come back here for dinner," Dean said lovingly to his last hushpuppy.  Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't disagree.

"So how are we spending the next twelve hours?" Tony wondered.

"Finding everything for the séance ritual won't be quick," Sam warned.  "There are some herb substitutions if we can't find the best ones, but we've got enough time that I would really prefer to track down the sure thing."

Tony's eyes lit up.  "So it's like Potions class in Harry Potter?"

Sam snorted.  "Not that tedious, thank God.  No boiling or perfectly precise measurements or anything complicated.  Well, maybe *some* spells are like that, but nothing we've ever had to use."

Gibbs was looking at Tony in surprise.  "Since when do you read books in your spare time, DiNozzo?"

Tony's jaw dropped.  "How do you know that Harry Potter is a book and *not* know they made like twenty movies about him?"

"Abby."  Of course.

"Besides, I read all the novels McGee wrote," Tony defended.

Gibbs just snorted at that.

Dean glanced up.  "Agent McGeek?  He's a writer?"

"Bestsellers."  Tony still wasn't sure if he was proud, resentful, or just embarrassed at his friend's success-- at his expense.  "He used our real team and real cases and just changed the names.  It was kind of funny . . . but not really."

"Reading your own press doesn't count as reading books, DiNozzo.  That's just narcissism," Gibbs teased.

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean were exchanging another serious, thoughtful look.  It only ended with Dean's shrug.  "We don't have a copy anyway," he said quietly.

"Of what?" Tony asked, since they weren't whispering like it was secret.

Instead of answering, Sam went for the redirection, pointing at Gibbs.  "You've got to stop calling him that.   Someone could overhear and look too close."

Shaking his head at his lapse, Gibbs didn't defend himself.

"Just call me Agent Tommy," quipped Tony.

"I thought you were set on 'Tony'," said Sam, confused.

"That's what McGee named his fictional copy of me."

"Oh.  Well, that would really be safer to put on your new I.D."

"No, no, no.  We've already been over this.  The news only calls me 'Anthony', so there's no danger.  Besides, I'm already changing my last name."

"You ought to practice using it," Dean advised.  "If you wake up groggy in the E.R. and spill 'Tony DiNozzo' before thinking straight, they're gonna put two and two together and make four."

"Two handcuffs, four calls to the authorities, and more security guards than Dean and I can sneak you past," Sam insisted.

"Okay, okay.  I'm not arguing."

"You're changing your name, not your personality," Gibbs rolled his eyes.  "Denison," he added a second later.

"Pretty sure I *am* changing my personality, my dear L. J. Tibbs.  Have you *seen* my new wardrobe?  Tony DiNo-- or rather, Original Tony would throw a fit.  But Tony Denison can just go with the flow."

"You got something to say about my fashion sense?"

"And both Tonys are so very grateful for your donations," he added quickly, thinking on his feet.  "Such great stuff, too.  Vintage wear is really trendy this year."

"We can see if there's a resale store in this town," Dean spoke up.  "We ought to hit it up, too.  Sam's size is always hit-or-miss, and he ruined a good shirt on our last hunt."

"Dean's just plain picky.  Has to make sure his jeans properly accentuate his ass."  The brothers started smacking each other again.

Gibbs sighed.  "I'm starting to wish it had been harder to find the poor kid's grave."

"Let's go," suggested Sam, getting up and out of range of Dean's final swat.  "With any luck there will be an occult store for one-stop shopping."

"And if not?"  Tony was looking forward to learning everything about hunting so he could stop feeling like such a fresh, ignorant recruit sooner rather than later.

"Gardening nursery first, library to look up acceptable local substitutions, grocery store if all else fails," Dean rattled off on their way to the door.

"Actually, I have one of Bobby's books in the trunk that contains a catalog of spells with regional variations.  I can use it to cross-reference our séance ingredients--"

"Holy crap, you are *such* a nerd sometimes."

"Or I could just send you to the library instead."

"Hell, no.  You know I only love you for your giant brain.  Gotta let you earn your keep."

Sam scoffed as they got into the car.

"Let's find a motel first," Dean said while turning the engine over.  "Borrow their phone book, unload our bags.  In fact, let's check in separately; let everything fall on the Winchesters if the shit hits the fan.  Gibbs, you can get a second room after we round everything up.  You brought cash, right?"  A withering glance answered that question.  "We shouldn't all hit the occult shop together, either.  Sam, you can drop me and Gibbs off at the cemetery.  We'll find the spot and see how public we're gonna be tonight.  Maybe find an employee and get the scoop on after-dark activities.  You two can get Tony some clothes if the herbs don't take long.  We've still got an alter cloth and enough candles, right?"

"We should, but I'll double check."

Dean was driving them to the cemetery first, hoping to find a place to stay within walking distance.  His baby was just too beautiful and conspicuous to park nearby when they needed to be covert.  Fortunately, the city graveyard was in an older part of town, and there were two non-chain motels within sight of its entrance gates.  One of them looked more like the hourly type, so Dean steered toward the alternative.

He parked just out of sight from the office, and went in alone.  It only took a couple minutes before he returned with a key and the yellow pages to toss in Sam's lap.  They drove around to the backside and stopped in front of the door numbered eleven.

"With a little luck, we can be done in time to take a nap!" Dean joked.

Sam ignored him.  "Everyone take a potty break," he suggested as they all pulled bags out of the trunk.  Dean handed his own off to Tony and started digging through the other gear stored above the false bottom, probably getting the candles and stuff.  He wasn't long behind them in entering the small room.  Sam had already found what he was looking for the in the phone book and had just started jotting down an address.

"Got one?" asked Dean.

"Probably.  'Potions and Portents' sounds likely.  Couple thrift stores, too."

"Good.  I love easy cases."

"Thanks, dude.  Now it will *definitely* go south."

"Come on.  It's just one fourteen year old.  Could be a lot worse."

"He could be a little punk, like you at that age."

"Yeah, I'd have been a total badass spirit if I'd died back then.  More likely, he was a sensitive emo type like you."

"Maybe I should tell Tony about the summer you were fourteen with the big crush on--"

"You want to go down that road," Dean interrupted, "Then you better watch your back.  I've got way more dirt on you than you have on me."

They stared themselves into a suspicious truce-- or a temporary cease-fire.

"Can we go now?" said Gibbs scathingly.

The Winchesters shrugged, and Dean tossed Sam the keys on the way out the door.  Sam took the driver's seat, and Tony got wordlessly redirected to shotgun by Dean's manhandling.

They drove into the cemetery, letting Gibbs and Dean out just inside the gate.  Finding the right grave could take a while, since there were easily a few thousand plots to cover.  Stopping at the small office to ask would only be a last resort, knowing it would make them easy suspects tomorrow when the grave turned up disturbed.

"I'll go east, you take west," Dean suggested.  "Hopefully there's a chronological layout, so call my cell if you find a group from the right year.  Or it might be alphabetical, but most likely it's totally random, and we're gonna have to get lucky."

Tony grimaced as he watched them take off in opposite directions. "So tell me we got the less mind-numbing half of the stick?"

"Definitely," nodded Sam as they drove away.  "We get to talk to the hippies at the mystical healing crystals store.  That's always a little jolt of adrenaline."

"I should warn you: I'm not very good with crazy people."

"Just nod and smile at everything they say."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At 3:09 pm, Dean's phone finally rang.  "*Please* tell me you found it," he answered.

"Approximately 300 yards north-northwest of the gate.  Look for the mausoleum with the copper cross on top; it's just south of me."

"Be there in ten."  Hanging up, he thought briefly about how good it would feel to sprint and stretch his muscles, but waved it off.  They hadn't needed to be this cautious about drawing attention since Victor Henrickson was still alive, but taking on Tony-- and his over-protective boss-- would hopefully be more than worth the trouble.

The grounds were covered with natural dips and rises and a few ancient trees had been left scattered, so Dean didn't see Gibbs until he was almost on top of him.  Looking around the immediate vicinity, Dean frowned and exhaled, "Crap."

Gibbs nodded.  "I assume those lights will be an issue."

"Yeah.  Taking out all three might get us an immediate repair call."

"Well, it's not completely out in the open here, but we could cut the main power line up by the front."

"Wow, look at you-- thinking like a real criminal."

"It'd be hard to catch them if I couldn't."

Dean didn't respond, but kept scanning the area.  "We should put you and Tony there," he pointed towards a section where the tombstones were all low, about twenty yards away.

"I'd rather have my back against that tree," Gibbs countered, nodding the opposite direction.

"Rock salt doesn't fly that far," Dean shook his head.  "It's just not heavy enough for that much distance.  And a tree has limbs a spirit can easily drop on your head.  Most of 'em ain't that smart, but I don't think you want to chance it."

"Okay, but surely some cover is better than none."

"It's not gonna be shooting back at you, remember?  Besides, Sam and I will have all its attention.  You're only staying in range as backup.  Best of all, it can't throw you hard if you're low to the ground."

"Damn," Gibbs shook his head at all the ways this was different from planning for a human suspect.

"We'll put down a salt ring about ten feet in diameter; give you both a little wiggle room."

Gibbs nodded.  "I don't see many bare plots around.  Shouldn't run into anyone else digging tonight."

"They'll still hear us all the way at the front gate if we need to use the shotguns.  We're lucky there's no residences too close."

"So we're still on for midnight."

"Yeah.  Come on, I've seen enough."  They started the walk back to the motel.  "I've sure you need coffee, and I want a drink."

"Didn't you make a rule about drinking on a hunt?"

"The spirit's in another state, and we've got nine hours to wait.  Pretty sure the only danger now is spilling more of our sob story to Tony with actual sobs involved."

"Why are you doing that, anyway?"

Dean sighed.  "Because we've made too many enemies who love to monologue like a bad villain, and I don't want him distracted at a critical moment.  But even other hunters have plenty of rumors to tell about the Winchesters that are half true and half crazy.  If we don't tell him the whole truth first, it would be harder for him to trust us."

"Gotta trust the members of your team," Gibbs agreed.

"Exactly."

The conversation ran out, and they walked for several more minutes in comfortable silence.  Gibbs was never talkative, and Dean was really only that way when trying to charm someone into giving him something.

So they were both a little surprised when Dean cleared his throat as they finally reached the motel property.  "We'll share it with you, too, if you really want to know.  I get that you and Tony are sort of a package deal, even if you're not going on the road with us."

Gibbs shook his head after a few seconds' thought.  "It's not any of my business.  If DiNozzo still thinks you're solid, that's all I need to know."

"Okay.  Well, good.  Because in your world of normal, ignorance is bliss.  Or so I've been told."

Once around the building, they could see that the Impala wasn't back yet.

"Why don't you go book that second room now, and ask where the closest convenience store is?"

"On it," Gibbs replied, veering left.

Dean went on to their room and looked wistfully at the nearest bed before hitting the bathroom.

One minutes later, Gibbs knocked on the door, so Dean was glad he hadn't bothered to lie down yet.

When he opened up, it was to the sight of a man very impatient for his caffeine.  "Two blocks south.  Let's go."  Without waiting, Gibbs turned and walked off, leaving Dean to catch up when he finished laughing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Also at 3:30, Tony was using that "nod and smile" advice on Sam himself.  The first store of new-age craziness they'd been to only had two of the ingredients for the séance spell, but had helpfully pointed them to an alternative medicine shop that carried a wider selection.  And they had indeed gotten all of the remaining herbs there, save one.  Naturally, this last item on the list had turned into the most boring scavenger hunt of all time.

Currently, Sam was arguing with a Wiccan who was clearly high on more than one substance at the moment.  The size of his garden and greenhouse gave him a little more credence as an expert, but Tony deducted points from anyone with troll dolls lining their windowsills.

"I'm telling you, man, cassava is the same thing.  Just a different name."

"No, I've seen cassia before, and it had rounder leaves."

"But you don't need the leaves anyway.  Just the bark."

"Yeah, and it still has to be the *right* bark.  From the right species!"

Tony wandered back to the car, and picked up one of Sam's books from the trunk out of boredom.  As he flipped through the pages, some parts were worth a laugh.  At least half of the spells were so vague that they had to be bogus, and nearly all of them promised unspecified prosperity and/or romance.  He wouldn't mind trying out that recipe for 'youthful hair', though.

It wasn't long before Sam joined him, rolling his eyes at Weeds-guy and getting in the car empty-handed.  Tony got in beside him, but didn't bother asking for details.  The car had taken them a mile or two before Sam visibly shook off his irritated state of mind and looked over to appraise his passenger.

"Bored?" he smirked.

Tony shrugged.  "It's probably better than reading headstones until my eyes bleed."

"'Sokay.  I'm bored, too," Sam confessed.

"I thought all this nerdy stuff was right up your alley?"

"You've been listening to Dean too much.  I *do* like finding all the details on a hunt and putting those pieces together to solve the puzzle.  I'm sure you know what I mean.  You must have done plenty of tedious fact-finding as a detective and agent."

"Yes, but I usually bribed my partners to do the worst of it," Tony admitted with an unrepentant chuckle.

"Well, anyway, just because I don't mind research, it doesn't mean that shopping and botany are ever fun."

"Fair enough," allowed Tony, grinning at Sam's annoyed tone.  "In case I haven't mentioned it, thanks for going to all this trouble just to help me convince my ex-boss that my new career path isn't completely insane.  Now granted, the salary and benefits packages aren't my favorite part."

"But the perks are awesome."

"Yeah, I'm kind of stoked about not setting an oh-five-thirty alarm every day."

"No reports to write up," Sam nodded.

"Oh my God, yes!  Freedom from paperwork!"  He threw his arms up in celebration, only to hiss in pain when they hit the roof.  After checking his knuckles for blood, Tony asked, "So where to now?"

"Back to that alternative shot.  I'm ninety percent sure we can substitute cinnamon for cassia without a problem."

"Ninety percent wasn't good enough for you a couple hours ago?"

"Not usually, no.  But then I remembered that this is hardly a do-or-die situation.  Worst case scenario of that other ten percent is dragging Gibbs along on another hunt."

"Most people wouldn't take ever a ten percent chance of pissing Gibbs off," Tony shuddered.

Sam was amused.  "Would you prefer it if me and Dean acted scared of him?"

"Probably, yeah.  I get a lot of entertainment value out of Gibbs intimidating people.  Kind of makes up for all the times I've been terrified of him."

"Okay, seriously?  He just hasn't seemed *that* scary."

"You've only seen him at his home, being overly protective of me, and dealing with traumatized, grieving people at work all day.  Trust me, when he's not walking on eggshells, he is one terrifying son of a bitch.  Besides, your perspective is all skewed from meeting evil monsters."

"That, or having been raised by another Marine."  They both grinned at the truth in that observation.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was late afternoon when the Impala returned to their motel, with Sam and Tony both thrilled to walk in the door and find cold beers waiting in the minifridge.

"Where's Gibbs?" asked Tony cautiously, trying not to jump to conclusions about his boss' award-winning ability to piss people off.

"In his room," Dean shrugged.  "I'd say 'napping,' but there's no way that's possible at his present caffeine level.  Hold on, I'll call him."

The television was on some stupid talk show, but Sam and Tony still sat down to watch it while Dean pulled out his phone.  Some girl was whining about how her boyfriend had cheated on her, but she still wanted him to pay half the rent and drive her kid to soccer practice.  With his mind so quickly numbed, Tony didn't realize until the commercial break that Dean had stayed silent.

"Hey, you forgot to call Gibbs," he pointed out.

"I sent him a text."

Tony sighed.  "He probably can't figure out why his phone beeped.  If there's not a specific, physical button for it-- like on, off, and numbers-- Gibbs can't be bothered to learn it.  Better just make a real call."

"Dean's not much different," Sam said with a smirk.

"That's because little toys are your forte, geek boy.  Mine is weapons and fast engines."

"Whatever you say, old man."

"Older and wiser," Dean nodded, putting his phone to his ear.  After a short wait for it to ring, he announced, "The kids are home from school," and hung up.

"Very funny."  Sam rolled his eyes.

Tony got up to hunt for the remote when the commercial break finished.  Even if he had to watch more of himself on the news, it would be better than this Springer-wannabe crap.  Fortunately the motel had cable, and ESPN was running a college women's basketball game, which was two of Tony's favorite things at one time.

When Gibbs knocked and Sam let him in a minute later, Tony muted the volume, turning his attention back to the case.  "You missed a fun-filled outing, boss.  Did you have any trouble finding the kid's grave?"

Gibbs just shook his head, so Dean elaborated.  "It's off the road and well-lit, but Mister Government Agent here figured we can just cut the power line," he said with a proud smile.

"Works for me," Sam nodded.  "You can do that while I'm setting up the séance."

"Find all the parts?" Dean asked.  Sam gave him a flat stare and didn't deign to answer.

"So what now?" Gibbs asked.

"Clothes?" Sam asked Tony.

"Nah.  Let's do something less depressing than wading through cast-offs from people who shop at J.C. Penney."

"Got a couple hours of daylight left," Dean suggested.  "Let's go shoot stuff.  I wanna see what you got, Gunny."

Tony started laughing and couldn't stop.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Damn it!" Sam hollered as he got a face full of spider web.

"Don't be such a princess!"  Dean's voice could barely be heard at that distance.  Muttering under his breath, Sam resumed forging a path to the tree Gibbs had chosen.

"I told you we should have found a gun range," Tony muttered as he tagged along behind.

"Really not a place you want to be identified by some off-duty cop, dude.  And some of those joints run your I.D. before they let you in the door.  Our fakes are top-notch, but they'll never stand up to a real-time database search."

"Quit being so reasonable, Winchester.  It still would have been better than playing ball boy for Gibbs and your delusional brother."

"You could have told us he used to be a sniper *before* they got started," Sam complained.

"But then we would have missed the look on Dean's face when he got epically taken down."

Sam stopped and turned around to grin wildly at Tony.  "Yeah, that was awesome."

"So *why* is he still even trying?"  It was facetious and whiny-- not a real question he expected an answer to.

A small laugh followed Sam as he went back to trailblazing.  "Dean's trying to learn more without asking outright for pointers.  Observing, copying, and hoping to get any unsolicited tips for improvement."

"Really?" asked Tony, surprised.  "You sure he's not just a desperately sore loser?"

Sam didn't need long to consider it.  "Dean isn't actually competitive about *anything*.  School didn't matter to him, he never played sports outside of P.E. class, and I doubt he could still name a single friend from childhood except a few girls.  Me and Dad were the only ones around to compare himself to, and I was too much younger to be a challenge."

They finally reached the tree that hadn't looked so far when it was designated.  Sam had gotten some printouts from a previous case out of the trunk, along with some old nails, and they used a greasy wrench to hammer the makeshift targets to the trunk.

"There has to be an easier way back," Tony said.  "I'll take point this time," he offered, picking a different angle to attempt.

"Damn straight, it's your turn," Sam agreed.

"So . . . ."  Tony struggled for a minute to find the dangling conversational thread.  "Dean doesn't fight over women or race to see who can find the best lead on a hunt?"

"He's strangely gracious at the oddest times.  But for the most part, we have different taste in girls.  Or pretty much everything.  And we've always been a good team.  Us against the world, you know?"

"Not really, but I see where that came from.  I'm also guessing this is another way y'all are opposites.  Something tells me kids don't do well at *Stanford* if competition doesn't motivate them."

"Not denying it.  *I* am competitive about everything."

"You don't seem to be."  Tony was skeptical.

"It's just all in my head," Sam grinned.  "Can't help keeping score.  But it wouldn't be polite to tell everyone else how often they lose."

Tony laughed along with his new half-geek friend, glad to find out they had more in common than he'd thought.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was well after sunset before Dean conceded that it was too dark to continue shooting.  On the plus side, there had been ample time and space for Tony to practice throwing the Winchesters' silver knives and do some more sparring with Sam.  It had been educational, and even fun in that cooped-up-all-day way.

They drove straight back to the motel in order to avoid getting thrown out of a restaurant.  Sam's hair was like a magpie's nest, and Gibbs' jeans were all bloody below the knee on his left side after he'd knelt down on a sharp rock.

When Dean gleefully started disassembling and cleaning his long range rifle with the scope newly-adjusted by Gibbs, it fell to Tony to call out for dinner.  Without preamble, he located the local phonebook and had put in a pizza delivery order within sixty seconds.

Gibbs let himself in a minute later, having changed clothes in his and Tony's separate room.  "Time to eat," he barked in his boss voice.

"Pizza's on its way," Tony smiled satisfactorily.

In return, Gibbs pulled out his most longsuffering sigh (which was still miniscule by most standards) and sat down at the table to drum his fingers.

When Sam emerged from the shower ten minutes later, he found everyone frozen in communion with the TV.  "What's on?" he asked, baffled at the intensity.

"Shhh!" Dean hissed.

"The Walking Dead," Tony whispered.

Sam's condescension was clear while he pulled clothes out of his bag.  "Zombies are so much dumber in Hollywood."

"Shhh!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Three hours until midnight, and they all got restless when the AMC marathon ended.

"Bar?" Tony suggested.

Sam shook his head.

"Shouldn't be seen together," Gibbs reminded his friend.

"Screw that," announced Dean.  "We'll just drive to the next county over."  He got up and swung on his jacket.  "What are you waiting for?  Let's go."  And he walked out the door.

Sam and Tony both looked at Gibbs, having at least the courtesy to find out if he was even interested before making decisions for everyone.  When he shrugged, they all got up and headed out to the Impala.

"What happened to rule number one?" Tony asked Dean as he started the engine.

"I'm trusting you to pace yourself."

Sam looked confused.  "What rule was that?"

"No hunting while drunk," Tony reminded them.

"*You* are seriously keeping *that* as a rule?" laughed Sam.

"I didn't say *no* drinking," Dean replied defensively.

"So how many pulls can you take from that flask in your pocket before it counts as drunk?" his brother snarked.

"One per half hour," was the immediate answer.

"Mm-hmm," Sam agreed patronizingly.

Dean turned on the radio.  Loud.

The others endured it without protest, and Dean quickly found a road going out of town opposite the way they came in.  The sign said 4 miles to the next exit, but a McDonald's billboard proved the next sizable city was in 17.

"Pool?" Tony asked a minute later when he could be heard between songs.

"Just for fun," Dean replied, guessing at what Tony really meant.  But he turned the volume lower to allow a conversation.

"When was the last time you lost a game?" Gibbs asked, just to fill the air.

"You mean not intentionally?  I dunno.  Not since before Sam went to college.  But I usually avoid anyone who looks like a real pro," he admitted.

"Your dad taught you to play?"

"Just the fundamentals.  But we spent so many hours in practically-empty bars after school when we were teenagers.  It was a good place for Dad to find locals willing to talk about anything weird going on in a town, and it kept me and Sammy from being stuck in a small motel room all day.  So I had lots of time to practice."

Sam snorted.  "Funny how you didn't use our afternoons at libraries so productively."

Dean snorted.  "Reading lore books and local papers doesn't need much practice, dude."

"What?  Of course it does!" Sam sputtered.  "You think I'm just better at it because our genes are slightly different?"

"Fuck that.  I'm as competent at research as you are!  You're just a genetic freak because you *enjoy* it."

"If practice is irrelevant, then how do you explain Bobby?"  Sam had really raised his voice, and the silence that immediately followed was extremely uncomfortable.

Finally, after a very long minute, Dean nodded.  "Okay, you may have a point."

Sam couldn't ignore the careful quiet from their passengers for long.  "Bobby was our . . . mentor," he finished at the same time Dean jumped in to help.

"Friend."

"We called him 'Uncle' when we were kids," Sam tried to find words to qualify a relationship that was stronger than blood.  "His wife had been possessed by a demon, back when that was extremely rare, and he had made himself an expert on the subject through . . . *obsessive* research.  Dad went to meet him, to learn what he knew, and Bobby sometimes let me and Dean stay at his house while Dad was hunting elsewhere.  They had a falling out over something later, but he still pulled out all the stops to help us a few years ago when we needed it."

"The man was a total hunting genius and badass," Dean proclaimed definitively.  "And he was the best kind of family: the ones there by *choice*."

"He's also the only other person who knew our whole story.  Well, the only human."  That caveat had Tony itching to ask Sam what he meant, but he held his tongue.

"He was a hero, in more ways than one.  Saved our bacon probably two dozen times, and kept us sane when the shit hit the fan."

"Or locked us up when we needed it."

"Not funny, Sam."

"I'm not complaining," he pointed out.

"Anyway," Dean continued," Bobby was the most awesome dude of all time, except for Dad.  Or maybe it's a tie."

The radio fuzzed into static for a couple seconds at that moment, but Sam and Dean carefully stared straight ahead until they were sure it was nothing.  Coincidence.

"Wish I could have met him," Tony offered sincerely.  "When did he die?"

"Only a few months ago," Sam sighed.

"We're still working on the monster that did it.  Haven't figured out how to kill the bastard yet, but I'm hoping it will turn out to be very slow and painful," Dean growled.  "Enough of this crap.  Let's go find a hole in the wall where we can drink to the fallen heroes, then come back and put away that poor punk kid."

The station was playing a live version of "Born to Run" at that point, which was practically begging to be back up at full blast.  Dean obliged, and the last few minutes on the highway coasted by quickly.

The city turned out to be called Springville, and Dean surprised them all by stopping at a gas station just for directions to the best local bar.

"What?" he challenged when he got back in the car.  "We've only got a couple hours.  I don't want to waste one weeding through the wrong type."

"What's the wrong type?" Tony asked as the Impala pulled back onto the highway.

Dean shrugged.  "You know.  Touristy or sporty or anywhere we'd be the only white boys."

"Wait," said Sam.  "I thought you liked being the only white meat.  You go looking for the Hispanic part of town sometimes."

"That's only when I'm hunting senoritas."  He paused briefly.  "Or the good tequila.  Duh."  He took the next exit, which put them in a more residential area.

Sure enough, "Jack's" looked to be a local favorite.  Crowded enough that they wouldn't stand out, but not so packed they couldn't find seats, based on the vacancy left in the parking lot.

"What names are we going by here?" Gibbs checked as they parked.

Sam shrugged.  "Real ones should be fine, except 'DiNozzo.'  Just don't go looking for attention," he directed mostly to Dean, who flipped him off.

They made their way inside, scoping out the people and the exits first, followed by the entertainment possibilities.  The two pool tables were already occupied, but Sam saw a dart board that was available and directed his brother there with a head tilt.  Gibbs went straight to the bartender and ordered a pitcher.

By the time he rejoined the younger men, Tony was egging the Winchesters to play against each other first.

"Come on, guys!  Time to show off what a childhood spent in a bar can amount to."

Sam laughed.  "That's not exactly what we said."

"Little Sammy spent too much time doing homework," Dean smirked.  "His childhood was completely wasted.  I don't think he knew what bars were really for before college."

"And then I got to play pool with the physics grad students," was Sam's smug retort.  "More helpful than a thousand hours of your own trial and error."

"All right, that's it.  You're on!"

Dean went first, putting three darts inside the outer ring of the center circle.

"Ha!  Can't beat that, bro!  Good luck just duplicating it."

Sam took his time, but his first throw landed a hair outside the center for a measly five points.

"You're over-thinking it, dude.  Come on, you've got this," Dean said confidently.

Sam's next dart hit dead center.

Tony whistled, Gibbs clapped, and Dean smacked his brother's back triumphantly.  "Yes!  That's my boy!"  Sam rolled his eyes at them all, getting ready for his last throw.

Which sailed straight into the previous perfect bull's-eye and bounced off the dart in its way.

They cheered for him anyway like he'd won, appreciating the real-life value of an accurate shot more than the score board.

"You two are up," he handed Tony the darts.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that Gibbs can kick my ass, so I want a handicap."

"Winner buys the next round?" Dean suggested.

Tony laughed.  "Or that works, too."  His results were totally respectable, if not impressive.

Gibbs grouped three in the circle like Dean's, but in rapid succession.

"Whoa!" they all oooh-ed and ahh-ed at his skill.

"But can you do that without spilling a full drink in your other hand?" Sam challenged, and the one-upmanship was 'game on.'

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They moved on when a pool table came open an hour later.

"Eight ball in teams?" Tony assumed.

Dean rubbed his hands together in eagerness.  "How about single-player single-pocket?"

Gibbs nodded.  "You two have to play them in order."

"Works for me," Sam agreed.  "Who's first?"

"No extra points for trick shots, Sammy.  You play.  I'll get the last round," Dean said, walking off.

The younger Winchester set up nine of the balls in a diamond shape without using the rack, leaving numbers ten through fifteen in the ball-return chamber.  He called the corner pocket nearest to where Gibbs and Tony had chosen to lean against the wall, so he wouldn't have his back turned away from a conversation.  Just as Sam was lining up to break, Dean tried to sneak up on him from behind.

The pool cue suddenly jabbed backwards, hitting Dean on his hipbone and sloshing beer over his shoes when he tried to control the instinctive flinch a half-second too late.

"You'll never score that way, man."  Dean was grinning, more proud of his brother's awareness than upset about the results.  "Here.  You get the least-full glass now."  He sat down a mug that was filled two inches short of the top.

Sam glared and moved the drink off the table, putting it on the rim by his corner pocket after a quick sip.  Then he lined back up and broke the rack with no hesitation.  None of the balls went in a pocket, and they were well spread out to give him an easy start.

The other three men watched as Sam played.  "So," said Tony to kick start a new discussion.  He floundered for a moment, trying to find a topic that was safe for other patrons to overhear.  "Um, you said something before about when your dad met Bobby.  How do hunters know each other?  Is there a clubhouse or mailing list or head honcho?"

"Nothing organized," Dean started.

"Which has pros and cons," added Sam.

"Sometimes you'd bump into another one who found the same case, trade notes, work it together."

"After a lot of posturing and pissing contests first," mocked Sam.

"So a lot of it is knowing a guy who knows a guy.  There's a few places that lots of hunters trust, where you could go looking for someone who might know a good hoodoo source or remember some obscure piece of lore you hadn't found on your own.  Our favorite was this roadhouse in Nebraska owned by a hunter's widow.  Man, her daughter was a real spitfire!"

"Dean!" objected Sam.

Dean grinned unrepentant, until Gibbs asked, "What happened to her?"  Solemnly, because it obviously wasn't good if she was described in the past tense.

Both Winchesters faces went carefully blank.  Sam never stopped sinking balls, though, and Dean cleared his throat to answer after only a few stalled seconds.

"Jo and her mom, Ellen . . . .  They sacrificed themselves to give Sam and me a chance against the worst supernatural mofo of them all."  He paused a moment.  "We told you about Samuel Colt's gun that could kill anything, right?"

Tony and Gibbs nodded.

"Well, it turns out that there are five things immune to it.  And this guy was one of them.  We didn't know that at the time, of course."  Dean lowered his voice to their ears only.  "A demon bitch underling had brought a whole pack of hell hounds to keep us away.  Those things are demonically strong, and invisible to boot.  Makes 'em nearly impossible to fight.  We barricaded ourselves inside a building, but not before Jo got hurt-- badly.  The girls stayed to set off an explosion that took out God-knows how many hounds and distracted the rest long enough for us to get away.  And we got our shot, right in that son of a bitch's face, but fat lot of good it did."  Dean ended his recitation by draining half of his beer in two chugs.

Tony frowned in commiseration, but Gibbs started shaking his head in dissatisfaction.

"Heroes shouldn't go unsung."

Dean shrugged.  "Maybe not.  But in my experience, they usually do."

"True that," sighed Tony.

"You know," Sam said absently as he angled a difficult shot, "If Chuck's last books were ever published, I'm sure Ellen and Jo are in it.  That's something, at least."

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but only caught flies for a few seconds.  Then he seemed to drop the subject before suddenly stabbing a threatening finger in Sam's direction.  "I told him *not* to print any more!"

"Huh?" his brother finally looked up from the pool table.  "Oh.  Well, his bill collectors probably gave him different advice."

"I'm gonna shoot him," Dean seethed.

"He's MIA, remember?"

"We just didn't look hard enough."

"No, Becky looked for him for months.  Actually . . . ."  Sam froze, a lightbulb clearly coming on.  "I think she knew everything up to what happened at Stull.  She only asked about what I had been doing in the past couple years.  I think.  God, all those conversations are hazy."

Dean grimaced.  "More like, '*thank* God.'  But she was friends with the guy-- probably he just let her read the drafts."

Sam gave him a Look.  It was one of the many that translated roughly to 'why are you so slow?'  Then he followed it with his most patronizing tone, just to be sure the message got through.  "Do you really think that *Becky* would be content if those books were never shared with the fans?  If the publisher didn't get them from Chuck, then she would have posted them on the internet herself.  Oh crap," he realized, throwing Dean a deer-in-the-headlights impression.

"What?" demanded his brother, alarmed.

"Dean, what if she . . . added her own stuff in there?"

Dean's jaw dropped yet again.  "Oh, God.  Please, please tell me she's not a . . . slasher."

"I don't know!" wailed Sam, beginning to breathe hard now.

Nothing could calm Dean down quite like his little brother starting to panic.  "Well then, get on your fancy smartphone and find out right the hell now."

Sam nodded, a bit shaky, before handing Dean the cue stick and looking around for the nearest unused  chair, which he drug over to the wall near their thoroughly confused audience.  Dean tried to hand him his beer, but Sam shook his head.  "I need both thumbs," he muttered, already typing.

Finally, Dean looked over at Tony and Gibbs, both watching patiently, but with eyebrows practically up to the ceiling.

"Crap," Dean sighed.  "Okay, long story short: this guy wrote some books about us.  Kind of like McGee, I guess, but without changing any names.  And he had the help of some magic mojo to make sure everything was true.  We didn't know anything about him until after twenty books featuring *us* were already on the not-bestsellers list.  But we thought that was all, and now we're not sure.  The ones we knew of ended before the worst stuff happened.  So let's . . . just forget about it for now.  Sam forfeited, so I'm gonna play next."  He put his cocky grin back on, only slightly crooked.  "Twenty bucks says I only need ten shots."

No one wanted to take that bet as he reset the table and started in with the same pocket his brother had used.  Dean was clearly good at compartmentalizing a problem to focus on the task at hand.  Getting the seven ball in one shot used an impressive topspin move that required more concentration than Dean should have been capable of so shortly after inhaling most of a whole pint.

Tony decided it was safe to ask, "So why didn't your books come up when I googled your names?"

"Huh.  Well, that's good to know," Dean said, surprised he hadn't thought to worry about that before.  "Chuck never used our last name.  In fact-- funny story-- when we met the guy, he thought we were pretending to be his characters.  Poor dude had no idea he was writing about real people.  Anyway, it wasn't till we said something about being Winchesters that he believed us.  And then nearly had a heart attack."

Gibbs frowned.  "How could he *not* know he wasn't being creative?"

"He'd drink too much, then have psychic visions about us.  Chuck thought his subconscious was brilliant, or something."

"Huh."

"Yeah.  It's seriously creepy.  Obviously, we've tried to repress all of it.  The fans are whacked, but fortunately few and far between."

"You have fans," Tony laughed incredulously.  "But they think you're imaginary."

"Right back at you, Agent Tommy, was it?"

Gibbs laughed harder than Tony had heard in years, drawing attention briefly from most of the room.

Even Sam's head was pulled away from his screen by the unexpected sound.  He glanced tightly at Dean before retreating again, and his brother visibly gulped at that body language.  'Bad news,' it telegraphed.

"Okay," he rallied.  "Let's put this game to shame."  Then he proceeded to quickly sink the five remaining balls easily.

Lightly elbowing Tony's ribs, Gibbs said, "Why don't you and I play a straight game.  Let them sort this out without any rubberneckers in the way."

"Works for me, boss.  But I'll have you know, *my* neck is more like a linebacker." 

"Sure it is, Tony," Gibbs smiled.  They racked all the balls back on the table and got another cue stick.

Sam and Dean had their heads together, with Sam sitting hunched over in his chair, and his brother looming above like a protective barrier against the world.

"God," said Tony.  "Can you imagine if McGeek had used our real names?"

"They'd have never found the body," Gibbs agreed.

The Winchesters drained their beers, though Dean's was nearly empty already.  He flashed his keys at them and pointed to the exit.  Tony nodded, knowing they needed some space.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sam and Dean sat inside the Impala, even though the weather was nice enough that they'd prefer its hood.  It wasn't a conversation they wanted overheard, however, so Dean idled the engine and turned on the air vents.

"All right," Dean sighed.  "Read me the titles."

"The last one used to be 'No Rest for the Wicked.'"  No need to remind them of its gruesome contents.  "Next is 'Lazarus Rising,' obviously your resurrection.  Then 'In the Beginning,' about your trip to 1974.  'It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam,' which I think is the seal where we stopped Samhain too late.  'I Know What You Did Last Summer.'  That's about Ruby when you were in hell," Sam gritted out.

"Isn't that title copyrighted or something?"

Sam ignored the tangent.  "'On the Head of a Pin' is you and Alastair."

"What the fuck?" Dean swore tiredly.

"'The Monster at the End of this Book' is what he was writing when we met him."

"Heh, that's actually a good title.  That was your favorite book when you were like, four.  God, I was sick of it."

"Dean, focus.  'Jump the Shark' is when we found out about Adam."

"How do you figure that?"

"There are summaries on Amazon.  'When the Levee Breaks' is Cas rebelling and me killing Lilith."

"Great.  I'm never going to enjoy that song again."

"How about 'Sympathy for the Devil'?  Guess what's in that book," Sam growled.  "'The End' is your vacation in 2014, and I may actually read that one since you clearly left some parts out."

"Dude, cut me some slack.  It was traumatic and irrelevant," Dean protested, irritated.

"'The Real Ghostbusters' is Gabriel's TV Land and the Supernatural convention where we learned about Crowley having the Colt.  'Abandon All Hope' is shooting Lucifer.  'The Song Remains the Same' is when we--"

"No!  Just, no!  That loser is *not* allowed to keep tainting Zeppelin like that!"

"Chill.  That's 1978.  'Dark Side of the Moon' is still a great song and also our wasted trip to heaven.  'Point of No Return' is when Zachariah resurrected Adam and you almost said 'yes.'  And 'Swan Song' is the last book."

"Peter Grant is rolling over in his grave, I swear."

"Wait, what?"

"Swan Song, Sam!  Led Zeppelin's record label."

"Dean, it means the last work by a writer or performer.  As in, the final chapter or a last hurrah."

"Well . . . duh.  Yeah.  But it's more sacrilege."

"Right.  Because that's the important part here."

Dean sighed.  "What do you want me to say?  I'm pissed, but there's no one left to shoot.  Chuck did a swan *dive* off the grid."

"Just . . . whatever.  Yes, tell me you're pissed, but don't blow me off.  I'm the one who'll be infamous for starting the apocalypse."

"Hey!  Screw that.  First of all, you're only famous among the losers who read books instead of living in the real world, and second, you're the big hero in the end, man!  I'm the one who was just a spectator at the big showdown.  And who cares?  It's in the past, and if we weren't trying to give Tony the play-by-play, we'd probably never have heard of those damn books ever again."

They were silent for a while, still feeling the betrayal at having their most intimate failures on public display.  Furious, but with no outlet for lashing out.  Hurt that God didn't care about the world's problems even while He had plenty of energy to send visions to prophets.  The sense of impotence was crushing.

"I'm sure there's still tons of girls on 'team Sam,'" Dean offered eventually.  "Becky sure wasn't put off by your road paved with good intentions."

Sam hit his head against the window a few times.  "Why didn't I find out all this while I was drugged?  That stupid potion made everything feel easy."

Dean couldn't help teasing.  "Would you like to go back?  I'm sure she'd take you with--  Ouch!"

"You suck."

"Chuck sucks," Dean countered, then snickered.

"Yeah," Sam agreed morosely.  "He really does."

Dean gave his little bro a 'buck up' pat on the shoulder before they got out of the car.  Back inside, they found Gibbs and Tony on their second game, which looked about even.

"Everything okay?" Gibbs asked when the Winchesters were silent.

Sam nodded.

"Situation normal: all fucked up," chimed Dean with a forced smile.

Tony sank one striped ball before the cue landed in a bad spot for his next shot.  He made a good attempt, but Gibbs stepped up for the next turn.  "So I just got to explain to my boss all about slash fan fiction.  Thanks for that."

The brothers' jaws fell in sync as they stood aghast.  Tony smirked openly at their speechlessness before he continued.  "You know I'm a film buff.  I'm also a big fan of James Spader.  Back in '94 he did this cool action-adventure slash sci-fi film called Stargate.  Did pretty well at the box office.  You've seen it?"  They nodded hesitantly.  "Then a few years later MGM turned it into a TV series for Showtime.  No Spader, but it wasn't half bad.  Also starred MacGyver.  I got bored one day and googled the hot chick, which led me to an eye-opening education to the world of over-the-top fans.  Turned out that many of them saw a whole lot more going on between the Colonel and the nerd than I did.  Kind of ruined the series for me after that.  But then years later I went out with this girl who talked too much.  She was hard core into some other show I'd never heard of, but she explained slash fiction to me . . . at great length.  That it was basically porn for chicks.  Like the way that men watch lesbians going at it, but reversed.  And then suddenly it all made sense," he finished with a filthy grin.

Sam's face got even more pinched, while Dean spluttered.

"But-- but-- but . . . .  We're *real.*  And-- especially *and*-- we're *related*.  It's too . . . eww!"

"Fantasies don't have to make sense," laughed Tony.  "I've got a couple myself that aren't realistic."

Sam stuck his fingers in his ears, squeezed his eyes shut tight, and loudly changed the subject.  "I really think the Dallas Cowboys have a shot at the playoffs this year, if the draft really helps the defensive side; particularly the secondary.  What do you guys think?"

Dean was already nodding eagerly at the new topic, and he jumped right in to make sure it kept going.  "I think their O-line is the real question.  Is Romo going to get the protection he needs to have at least a whole second to read who's open.  That center better be practicing making accurate snaps right now, too.  What's his name?"

"Phil Costa," answered Tony.  "You *do* realize that I'm a Redskins fan?  This is going to be a problem if you plan to cheer for Dallas."  He frowned at them so sternly that Dean cracked up.

"Whatever, man.  But we'll let you jump ship in January with minimal groveling."

"They're turning it around this year.  Just wait and see.  We're going to draft Andrew Luck or RG3, and that will be all the difference.  I'd put real money on it, if I still had any."

"I do," Gibbs spoke up.  "Fifty says we finish the season with a better record than the Cowboys."

"Done," agreed Sam, who shook on it.  "Even a Stanford grad can't win games single-handedly."

"DiNo-- *Tony*, finish this game and let's head out."

"Yes, sir!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Back at the motel, Gibbs changed into his already-ruined jeans and came in throwing leather gloves at the Winchesters.  They were strong and broken in from various projects in his basement or yard.  Most importantly, they'd hold up through a little grave digging.

He also pulled a tube of superglue from his pocket and got up in Tony's space until hands were offered without further protest than a sigh.

"You know," Tony griped as Gibbs coated every fingertip.  "This could be dangerous if I ever need a good grip on a weapon."

"So practice with it on," his ex-boss shrugged.  "You oughta be covered twenty-four seven anyway.  All it takes is one diligent detective finding just one of your prints to start up another storm about you.  Fornell may not mind, but Abby and Ziva and McGee sure would."

"I hate it when you don't fight fair."  This got good a good chuckle out of Gibbs.

"How long will that last?" Sam asked from curiosity.

Tony shrugged.  "Depends on how rough things get.  Couple days, or only a couple hours if I was shoveling."

"Can you still fight?" was all Dean wanted to know.

"Of course.  Wouldn't want to try tug-of-war, though."  He checked that it was all dried before taking the glue from Gibbs to return the favor.  Tony just drew a quick line down the middle of each finger pad, not bothering to coat them to the edges.  A partial print wasn't much threat to someone who wasn't a legally dead psychopath.

"Okay, we're all packed," Dean announced.  "Sam's got the séance crap; I've got the weapons, bolt cutter, lighter fluid, and salt.  One of you can haul the shovels.  Tony, you and Sam leave five minutes after us and take separate approaches.  Once you're at the main entrance, head two o'clock for three hundred yards.  Gibbs, put that salt line down where we talked about.  I'll cut the power and meet you there.  If opening the coffin doesn't get our ghost to show, Sam will do the ritual with the corpse ready for a match.  Anything goes sideways, you shoot it.  Any questions?"

Sam pulled out matchbooks from his pocket and handed one each to Tony and Gibbs.  "Just in case," he said.

"Sounds simple enough," said Tony.

"That's the idea," Sam nodded.  "Just getting your feet wet."

Gibbs walked out the door with the salt.

"Guess he's ready," Dean smiled.  "See you in a few."  He left the room headed the other direction.  Sam knew Dean would give himself the longest, most convoluted route.

"This is good," Tony commented.  "A little exercise, a little adrenaline.  As long as it's followed up with a few hours' sleep, I can picture more of this in my future."

Sam mildly raised one brow.  "Just don't forget that this is what I was doing in grade school.  We're taking it easy on you-- and Gibbs.  And we're trusting that you can keep up when a wrench gets thrown in."

"Thanks for the buzz kill, man.  I was ready to go after the Devil himself next," Tony pretended to whine.

Sam reacted to that strangely, but it was too small and quick for Tony to pinpoint how.  "Come on, let's head out."

It was mostly deserted outside, save the occasional car on the street that ran beside the cemetery fence.  Sam crossed it almost immediately, while Tony kept to the sidewalk until he was directly across from the front gates.  Apparently those were just for show, since they were still open at this time of night.  Tony rejoined Sam right inside, and they walked wherever there was the most cover in roughly the right direction.

Gibbs must have been watching for them, because he waved to get their attention when they got close.  Then the lights went out.

"Nice timing," Sam granted.

The salt circle was more of a salt oval and already down, barely big enough for two grown men to lie prone.

"Tight quarters, boss," Tony remarked.

"Wasn't sure how much to save for the corpse," he pointed out.

Sam shrugged.  "I've never done any controlled studies on the minimum necessary quantities of purification elements."  Tony snorted.  "A couple handfuls are probably enough."  He started unloading the séance materials onto the grave next to their kid's.  A black square cloth with a pentagram and several other strange symbols chalked onto it, candles, a bowl, and all the plastic baggies of herbs and roots and whatever Tony had watched him collect hours ago.

Dean jogged up then and dropped his bag on the ground and pulled out three sawed-off shotguns.  One got propped against the headstone before he held out the others to Gibbs and Tony.

Tony also got a whole box of shells.  He raised his eyebrows in surprise.  "Are we expecting a ghost stampede?"

"Don't jinx us, dude."

They took their places inside the salt line while the Winchesters donned Gibbs' work gloves and set right to it, first cutting through the thick grass in a nearly perfect rectangle.

"Why the ninety degree angles, guys?" Tony asked.

"So we can conceivably pass as legit employees if we get interrupted.  Now shut your pie hole and keep a look out for those interruptions."

The whole process took a long time.  Tony's body was numb from the cold ground he was lying on.  Gibbs was probably having a ball.

Tony got really, really bored.  At least stake-outs had conversation, passerby to invent funny stories about, or at even a radio playing softly.  This had two sweaty guys digging a hole.  He had read every tombstone in sight twice in the first half hour.

Eventually he started reciting "Chinatown" dialog in his head to see if he could really do it all backwards *and* forwards by heart.  Sadly, that wasn't enough of a challenge to keep his mind occupied.

Tony wondered what the boys would deem him ready for next.  Not all ghosts were this easy, he knew from their father's journal.  Some of the monsters didn't sound too bad, but nearly all of them were labeled "twice as strong as humans."  Or worse.  He wasn't in any hurry to have that proven to him.

Demons were intriguing solely because Sam and Dean had claimed it was their specialty.  He *was* morbidly curious what that looked like.  The very notion of Hell being real freaked Tony out more than a little.  How bad did you have to be to end up there?  It was good to know there was payback ahead for the truly sick criminals he'd helped take down in the past, but only if others weren't there just for jaywalking.  Then again, if it was that easy to be damned, Heaven would be deserted.  Right?

Tony was really itching to know everything the Winchesters knew.  He was floored by what he'd heard already, and they said they had barely started.  Sam used to be *psychic*?!  What did that mean, and how did it start, and why is he not psychic anymore?  It was clearly all very traumatic for them, and he knew he had to be patient with their pace walking down memory lane, but the more he found out, the greater the suspense when they stopped.  He hoped the whole retelling would be days long, rather than weeks.

Finally, *finally*, he heard a shovel hit something solid.  Only the brothers' heads were still visible as they cleared off the coffin.  Sam soon climbed up and got something out of Dean's bag to toss down.

"Lock pick," he explained quietly as he picked up the remaining shotgun and stepped back a few feet to keep watch as Dean opened the casket.

The cemetery remained still and quiet as Dean climbed out and tossed the remaining salt onto the corpse.  Lighter fluid followed.

Sam waited a moment before he handed the shotgun to Dean and lit the candles to start a séance.

"Is this a prank?"

The teenager from the pictures walked out of the shadows on the far side of the grave from Tony and Gibbs.  Dean's gun was immediately pointed at the solid-looking ghost.

"Why are you doing this?"  The kid didn't sound dangerous or mad, just confused.

Sam put his hands out non-threateningly.  "Because you shouldn't still be here.  It's time for you to move on.  This is how we can help you do that."

"But . . . I like it here.  Move on to *where*?"

"Someplace *better*," Sam soothed.

The spirit looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowed.  Tony held his breath.  "You're lying!" the kid suddenly snapped.  At the same time, he made a pulling gesture with his arm, and Sam went flying down into the grave.

Bang!  And the ghost was suddenly gone.  Dean was already headed to help his brother climb out.

"Sam!  You okay?"

"Nothing's broken," came the muffled reply.

"Good.  Get your ass in gear, and I'll light him up."  Dean didn't glance down once after the initial confirmation that Sam was conscious.  His focus was getting a 360 degree view to be ready for another shot.

Sam was mostly back above ground when they heard the casket slam closed and Dean's shotgun was knocked off into the dark.

"Damn it," Sam grumbled as he got back into the hole.

Tony got up on his knees for enough leverage to toss his gun to Dean when a second shot rang out.  Gibbs' reflexes were still better than a Chuck E Cheese employee at whack-a-mole.  The ghost hadn't been visible for a full second before it was gone again.

Sam had the lid reopened and himself out in the three heartbeats it took Dean to light an entire matchbook and toss it over the rim.

The kid reappeared at that moment, looking like a charcoal briquette, burning up completely in seconds.  His corpse would take longer.

"Let's go," said Dean.  "South fence."

Tony retrieved all the guns and shoved them back in Dean's bag.  Sam re-packed the ritual paraphernalia.  Dean put the shovels over his shoulder and helped Gibbs scatter the salt line into the grass.  It might even go unnoticed if sprinklers ran before daylight.

They walked quickly to the back of the cemetery, boosted each other over the iron fence, and split up to take separate routes back to the motel.  Tony's watch had quit glowing long ago, but he felt sure it was past oh-three-hundred.

The motel was like home sweet home after the long day.  Foregoing his nightly routine, Tony fell asleep before Gibbs finished brushing his teeth.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


End file.
